Long Gone
by AlkalineTeegan
Summary: It's funny how the ringing of a phone can change everything—if you let it. Rated T for language and some dark themes. Minor spoilers up to Season 7.
1. Chapter 1

It was a Friday.

They were bored.

Gibbs must have been feeling indulgent—or his hearing had finally gone the way of his eyesight.

"Okay, okay, you win that one, Probie," Tony said, leaning back in his chair, his feet on his desk. "Here's one for you: Batman versus Aquaman."

McGee laughed out loud as Ziva just looked bewildered. "Aquaman?" she said, raising an eyebrow. She balanced on her fingertip the letter-opener she'd snatched off Tony's desk earlier during an oddly gentle wrestling match that still would have had OSHA sweating bullets. "What kind of super-hero is that? Who is he going to stop? Underwater bank robbers?"

"And for that reason," McGee said, wondering why Gibbs had allowed the insanity to ensue for so long, "Aquaman goes down to Batman in the first round. Easily."

Tony frowned. "Easily?"

McGee looked at him, knowing the darkness under the senior agent's tired eyes was mirrored on his own face—on all their faces. He realized Gibbs was probably giving them a break because it was four o'clock on a Friday after a hellish week. "Which one can stop a murder on the beach, DiNozzo?"

Tony smiled—and swore he saw a hint of one on Gibbs' face, too. For some reason, he found that made his own grin wider. "But Aquaman has a sweet mullet. Doesn't he get points for style?"

"He has a stylish fish?" Ziva asked, confused.

Tony laughed again, realizing how good it felt after an exhausting week's worth of blood and senseless violence. "It's a hairstyle, Ziva. You know, business in the front and party in the back?"

She stared at him blankly as he waved his arms around his head in demonstration.

"Gibbs?" Tony said, turning his hands palms-up and looking for help.

"Just because the name's Jethro…" Gibbs said, thoroughly enjoying watching his team unwind. _Getting soft? Maybe... Nah, I'll make up for it next week. _

"McGee, McGoogle the lady a mullet," Tony said, waving his hand as McGee started typing.

"I'm fairly certain that's the first—and only—time those words will ever be strung together in a sentence," McGee said as Ziva came to lean against his desk.

"Not a sentence," Tony said, still smiling. "That was an order. From your favorite senior field agent." The phone on his desk rang and he picked it up. "Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo. How can I help you this fine afternoon?"

Gibbs shook his head with a smile, his eyes still on Tony as he listened to whoever had called. Gibbs watched the blood drain from Tony's face, his humor decimated, his mouth as mangled as if his smile had been dropped from a ten-story building.

Tony sat portrait-still, staring at the phone in his hand, frozen halfway to the cradle, his expression equally stalled midway between devastation and forced blankness.

"You okay, Tony?" Gibbs asked softly, knowing he wasn't—not even close.

McGee's and Ziva's heads jerked up at his concerned question. They followed their leader's eyes and both went quiet and still, unconsciously mimicking Tony's stunned silence.

Tony blinked several times and dropped the phone into the cradle with a clatter. "Wrong number," he said dismissively, his tone empty as a desert canteen.

Gibbs' eyes narrowed, but he didn't say a word. He just watched the muscle work in his agent's jaw—his only outward sign of what had to be serious inner turmoil. There wasn't much that could still the man like this.

When it was clear DiNozzo wasn't going to continue their silly conversation, Gibbs got up silently and went to sit on the edge of his desk. Tony looked up at him with pleading in his eyes. _Please don't be nice to me, Gibbs. Please, no. Not right now. _

"With me, DiNozzo," Gibbs said, making his tone hard again. And damned if DiNozzo didn't breathe a barely audible sigh of relief as he got up wordlessly and followed Gibbs out of the shocked-speechless squad room.

Tony followed numbly as Gibbs found an actual conference room and closed the door behind him. Tony's breathing stopped as he realized this wasn't going to be a short conversation. Of everything he knew right then, he wasn't sure why _that_ was the thing to literally take his breath. He put a hand to his chest as he watched Gibbs pull out a chair.

"Boss," he wheezed. "I can't—"

Gibbs put a hand on DiNozzo's shoulder and forced him to sit, fighting images of Tony gasping under harsh blue lights. He put a hand on the back of the agent's neck and forced his head down.

"Breathe, DiNozzo," he said, feigning calm even as worry clogged his own throat. "That's an order."

Gibbs stood beside him, feeling his choked breaths even out under his hand. Only when DiNozzo started to squirm under his gentle touch did Gibbs move away, pour him a glass of water and take a chair far enough away to calm the pale, shaky agent.

Gibbs watched him drink, cough slightly and set the glass down on the long conference table with a solid _thunk_. Tony's eyes didn't leave the liquid sloshing in the glass until it had settled into a bathwater calm he couldn't quite muster for himself. He silently thanked his boss in every way he knew how for letting him just _be._

When Tony finally looked up, his eyes were so blank they might have been made of the same glass as the one that sat on the table.

Gibbs realized Tony couldn't actually put it into words so he asked quietly, "Your father?"

Tony nodded slowly, unblinking. His eyes dropped back to the table.

"Dead?" Gibbs asked, wishing he had picked a nicer way to put it when Tony flinched as if Gibbs had clubbed him with the blunt word.

"No," Tony whispered, to Gibbs' surprise.

Gibbs' curiosity was making his leg twitch—or maybe it was the gallon of coffee—but he sat quietly, waiting for DiNozzo to speak. He watched Tony make the attempt several times, looking up, opening his mouth and looking thoroughly dismayed at his inability to form the words. He looked helplessly at Gibbs, making the lead agent wish he were better at offering comfort. _Should I touch him? Say something? Apologize? For what? I didn't kill the guy. There are times I've wanted to, but he's not even dead. _

"Take your time, DiNozzo," Gibbs said gruffly, glad he'd chosen the conference room over the elevator. They'd have called the fire department by now.

Tony just nodded again. "He…"

"They…"

_Come on, Tony, start talking. You're scaring me. _

Tony took a deep breath that ended with a full-body shudder. He shook his head hard, once, and met Gibbs' eyes. "He had a stroke," he said blankly, unable to force feeling into his words, probably because he had no idea what he was feeling—what he should be faking feeling.

"When?" Gibbs asked, if only to keep him talking. A silent DiNozzo was just that unnerving.

"Earlier this week," he answered, letting out a pained breath. "Apparently he found someone else to be his next of kin. Though I doubt it was ever me."

Gibbs felt his fury rise. He had _told_ the stupid man to treasure his time with his son. _Why the hell hadn't the bastard listened? And why the hell would you dangle what you had to know he wanted so badly in front of him only to snatch it away? _Gibbs suddenly wished the man could see how thoroughly wrecked his son was at this moment. _Maybe then… Too late. _

"Who called?" Gibbs asked, barely managing to force his tone just this side of interrogation mode.

Tony's eyes were back on the glass. "Marianne. Step-mother number…" he shook his head, too confused to count. "I don't really know. She sounds nice, though. Found my number in his rolodex. DiNozzo comma Anthony, she said. She had no idea I was his son."

Gibbs raised an eyebrow. "The same name thing didn't clue her in?"

Tony smiled the saddest, smallest smile Gibbs had ever seen. "We're Italian," he said, as if that explained everything. Gibbs was glad he had the presence of mind to add, "I have three cousins named Anthony."

"So he got married in the couple months since he came here?" Gibbs asked to fill the silence while Tony moved the glass in slow, shaky quarter-turns.

"Must have," Tony said, his eyes closing in pain for a fraction of a second before focusing on the glass again. "I told you he was running low on funds. Never ran out of charm, I guess. I bet the lovely Marianne is loaded, if not lovely."

Gibbs winced, realizing belatedly his mistake in bringing up the man's marriage. Tony hadn't requested any time off to attend a wedding. _Of course he hadn't. _

"He didn't keep in touch after he came here?" Gibbs asked, then mentally kicked himself again. He'd better watch it before he bruised his brain. _Stop interrogating him. Touch him, talk to him. Hell, hug him or something. Can't you see he's suffering?_

"Nah, he just came and went," Tony said, unable to keep the sadness from invading his quiet words. He shrugged hard enough the throw the emotion from his tone. "Like always. It was oddly comforting."

_No, Tony, not oddly. Horribly, heartbreakingly—but not oddly. Only you would think that. _

"So now he's…?" Gibbs asked, wondering if there was a class or something he could take to learn how to do this right. Tony was important enough to him to consider it if there ever was.

Gibbs considered the cell in his pocket, realizing more suitably armed reinforcements were a call to Ducky or Abby away.

But Tony said, "He's there… but not there. If that makes any sense." He huffed a breath and stood. "They're mostly waiting for him to die," he said quickly, moving toward the door. "I'm gonna go now, okay?"

Gibbs nodded and stood. "Sure, Tony," he said, hesitating for a fraction of a second. Tony was about to bolt so he blurted, "You want me to come with you?"

Tony came to a dead stop at the words. He turned back to his boss and looked at him as if he'd just announced another marriage of his own—to a guy. "You want to come home with me?"

Gibbs blinked in surprise. "You're not going to New York?"

Tony's eyes hardened even as tears welled in their green depths. "Oh, is that what I'm supposed to do?" he asked, an edge of anger obliterating the transient tears. "Excuse me if I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do in this situation."

Gibbs backed away from the sudden anger and saw Tony's face crumble for a half-second before he shoved it roughly behind an alabaster mask of pure nothingness. "I'm sorry, Gibbs," he said quietly. "You're being nice and I'm being… an ass. As usual."

"Understandable," Gibbs said simply, his fingers itching to reach out and touch him, to reassure him that it was okay if he wanted to be angry, or sad, or hurt, or anything. He wanted to tell him there was no rulebook on these things and there was no "right" reaction.

Tony stared down at the doorknob in his hand for a long moment, knowing he was blocking Gibbs' path and the man probably wanted to get far away from him and his messed-up head. He looked back up at Gibbs and found only gentle concern where he had expected annoyance. It made him ache.

"You think I should go?" he asked quietly, cursing his blatant display of weakness in front of his boss.

Gibbs just nodded. "Yeah, Tony, I think you should. I'd hate for you to regret it if you don't."

Tony shivered at the emotion behind the words. He swallowed hard. "I don't want to go."

"I know," Gibbs said, giving him a small smile. "That's why I offered to go with you."

Tony studied him with unreadable eyes for a long moment. "You'd really do that?"

He nodded. "If you want me to. Wouldn't have offered if I didn't mean it."

Tony rubbed a hand over his face. "I really don't want to go."

Gibbs looked at him, saw his pain and indecision, and he was glad he'd spent years sharpening his bastard skills. _If I have to be a bastard to get him to go, then so be it. If I have to hurt him now to make it hurt less later, then that's what I'll do. I'd rather he hate me for a while than hate himself for the rest of his life._

"Listen, DiNozzo," he said, his tone as hard as he could manage with his eyes locked onto Tony's anguished ones. "Do you really want to spend the rest of your life wishing you'd gone? He's your father. You need to go. Simple as that."

His tone softened a tiny bit at the guilt that sprang up in Tony's verdant gaze. "I know he's hurt you—probably more times than you can count. And I know you never had the relationship with him that you wanted. But it's not too late until it's really too late, DiNozzo."

Tony's eyes were blank again, but the muscle in his jaw was twitching like a tweaker on a three-day high. He swallowed hard and nodded. "You're right. As usual. I'll go." He looked almost apologetic when he added, "Alone. I just think I should go alone."

"Tony—"

He shook his head. "No, Gibbs. I can't ask you to do that for me."

Gibbs just gave him a look. "You didn't ask. I offered."

Tony's eyes gave in before his mouth had a chance to catch up. Gibbs nodded. "Go home and pack. I'll pick you up in a couple hours."


	2. Chapter 2

Tony stared at the long garment bag an hour later, feeling physically ill. It wasn't surprising, though, since he had come home and gone straight to the bathroom to throw up before retreating to his bedroom to pack. He had thrown several random things into his bag without really thinking about them, and he figured he'd be lucky if he ended up with a matching pair of socks. He had mostly been glancing longingly at his bed. He wanted nothing more than to curl up and sleep for days.

But he couldn't. Gibbs would be here soon.

_You're such an idiot. Why the hell would you agree to this? If anyone was to come with you on this hellish mission, it should be Abby… or even McGee. Abby would understand, and you can fool McGee with your act. Gibbs? Yeah, not so much. You're screwed. _

He looked at his bed again. _You could lie to him. Tell him Marianne called back and said he's already dead. She had said she would call… "if anything changes," she'd put it. You know that just means when he dies. Because she's not expecting me to come. She didn't even know I existed until this afternoon. Goddamn, I'm going to have to meet her, make small talk, tell her things about my life she should already know. But he won't have told her a damned thing about me. You know that. Nothing about your life, your work. Even when practically asked point-blank, he hadn't said he was proud of you. _

_Shut up, _he commanded his brain. _Focus on the task at hand. Get through one thing at a time. _

He eyed the suit bag as if it were a body bag—containing the most rotten, stinking corpse he'd ever come across. And he'd seen some bad ones. Like that one in Philly that had been in—

"Stop it."

_Right, the suit. Is it wrong to bring it in case you end up attending a funeral? What will Gibbs say about it? Leave it. He's already going out of his way for you—massively out of his way, several states and several steps beyond the role of "boss" out of his way—so don't chance it by assuming he'll stay for a funeral, if there even is one. _

His phone shrieked from his pocket and he jumped about a mile. _Gibbs, shit. No wait, maybe he changed his mind. Why else would he be calling?_

"Where are you?" came Gibbs' voice as Tony realized he'd opened the phone but not answered it. "I've been knocking for five minutes."

"Uh, be right there," he said to dead air. _Shit._

He turned around and squeaked in alarm at Gibbs standing in the doorway. _Breaking and entering? _That's _how we start off this weekend?_

"Oh, hey, come on in," he said, fighting an irrational giggle.

Gibbs just rolled his eyes. "You need better locks."

Tony forced down the giggles again. "Said the man who never locks his doors." He grabbed his bag from the bed, feeling oddly guilty about the pile of dirty clothes in the corner. "Let's go."

Gibbs stayed planted in the doorway. He tossed a nod over Tony's shoulder at the garment bag. "Forgetting something?"

Tony blanched. "I don't think I should—"

"Be prepared," Gibbs said simply. "Bring it."

Tony nodded mutely and went to retrieve the bag. "No way were you a Boy Scout," he said, needing to fill the silence.

He turned to find Gibbs raising a silver eyebrow at him. "Why not? You saying they weren't around back then?"

Tony paled.

Gibbs winced, realizing he would have to be more careful with this new, skittish version of his agent. "Relax, Tony. I'm kidding."

"Oh," Tony said, badly faking a smile as he headed to the door.

Gibbs watched him lock up, hearing Tony's slightly uneven breathing, and he felt his anger flare again. Did the man even know how much power he still held over his son? Would he care if he did? How would he feel knowing he could still reduce eternal-optimist Tony, who could find a joke no matter what the situation, to a quivering mass of poorly imitated humor?

_More importantly, what had the man done to Tony to make him react like this? Was it just the neglect? As if that isn't bad enough..._

They reached the car without another word, and Gibbs watched Tony's eyes widen slightly at the bright yellow classic. Gibbs flipped the keys at him, wincing again when he caught them barely an inch from his face. "Want to drive? You know where we're going, not me."

He caught them easily when DiNozzo tossed them back with a firm shake of his head. "That's really nice of you, Boss, but not really."

Gibbs just eyed him as he unlocked the car.

Tony saw the look and huffed out a soft breath. "I almost killed myself five times on the way here," he admitted, not looking at Gibbs as he dropped his bag into the backseat. "I'm not taking you down with me."

Gibbs nodded his understanding as he settled behind the wheel. "And there's no way you'd endanger a beauty like this."

Tony found a genuine, if small, smile for him. "You know me so well."

Gibbs started the car.

_Not even close, DiNozzo. _

_

* * *

_

The drive wasn't nearly as awkward as Tony imagined it would be. He realized it was because they had spent countless miles in quiet cars together, on their way to crime scenes, interviews and the like. Gibbs usually ignored him, though, so even the infrequent glances his boss threw at him had him slightly unsettled. He knew it was the concern in them that was bothering him. _God, you're so screwed up. _

Somewhere in the middle of New Jersey, a thought occurred to Tony that made him groan a little before he could stop himself.

"You all right?" Gibbs asked immediately.

"I…"

Gibbs' eyes left the road to study his face for a moment before flipping quickly back to the Friday night traffic. "Tony?"

"I need to call Marianne," Tony said resignedly. "I can't just show up."

Gibbs made a rude noise. "Yeah, you can. You're his son."

Tony flinched.

But he just said, "I should still call."

Gibbs felt a flare of pride at the man's resolve. "That's good of you, Tony. I'll find a place to stop."

Tony already had his phone in his hand. "You don't have to. It won't take long."

Gibbs eyed him. "We could stop for dinner. You hungry?"

Even through his grief and confliction, Tony knew saying no would be a bad idea, so he nodded. "Sure, you pick the place. I'll pay."

"Suggestions?" Gibbs asked, feeling slightly relieved that DiNozzo hadn't turned down food.

Tony snorted. "How about we wait twenty minutes and pick somewhere _not_ in Jersey. That whole 'Garbage Capital of the World' moniker should be extended to their cuisine."

"Spoken like a true New Yorker," Gibbs said, smiling and feeling a touch more relaxed. He wasn't surprised, though; Tony was nothing if not capable of pulling humor out of even the worst situations.

Tony half-smiled again. "There's a good little place just across the state line if you don't mind waiting. Or pizza."

_I'd eat fried monkey tails for you tonight, DiNozzo, if it keeps that smile on your face. _

"Works for me."

**

* * *

**

Gibbs watched Tony pick at his dinner and tried not to sigh. He had been relatively fine until he had excused himself to go call Marianne, his newest—and likely last—stepmother. Gibbs couldn't really wrap his mind around the term. He couldn't imagine how Tony dealt with the parade of women, knowing from early on that they were probably only temporary, especially after losing his own mother at such a young age. He wondered how the women had treated Tony, if any of them had even tried to be what the boy had lost.

So when Tony returned to the table white-faced and appetite-less, Gibbs wanted to say something but found that he, again, had no words. He had plenty of questions, though. But he couldn't make himself keep interrogating his agent, bringing up old hurts just to fill the silence.

Tony paid the bill as promised even over Gibbs' protest, and they returned to the car. Gibbs drove, sneaking glances at his silent passenger, who simply stared out into the black night. Wracking his brain for long-buried knowledge of the geography of Long Island to give Gibbs directions, Tony found himself wondering if his old house was still owed by his father and his new wife. He felt a sudden need to go there and cursed himself for not driving himself, for not coming alone. His chest ached with the intense longing to go find the house and sit in his mother's music room—whether it was DiNozzo-owned or not. _Hell, I've got a badge…_

He felt tears burn his eyes as he thought about his mother's piano. He blinked furiously to clear the moisture, his need to have the instrument back as urgent as the need to draw oxygen. He closed his eyes and felt his breath hitch. _Goddammit, get a grip. You will not cry. Not here. Not now. _

A quick glance to his left and the tight set of Gibbs' mouth told him his boss had heard him but was mercifully ignoring him. Tony forced himself to calm down, to breathe slowly and evenly. He opened his eyes and saw they were approaching the hospital.

"There's a hotel just down the block. I'll check in with you and walk back," Tony said. "I'll get you your own room, and if you even think about paying, I'll shoot you," he added quickly.

Gibbs gave him a look. "Only one of us is armed right now, DiNozzo."

Tony's eyes widened in shock as he reached to his bare side. "Holy hell, Boss, I…"

Gibbs just shook his head. "No rule saying you have to carry off-duty."

"I know, but I always…"

"I know," Gibbs said, shooting a glance at his distressed face. "Don't worry about it, Tony."

Gibbs pulled into the hotel parking lot and got out of the car, stretching and leaning on the roof. "One room, DiNozzo. We've shared before." He watched Tony shift uncomfortably and try to mask the movement under the weight of his bag. "Unless you really want to be alone."

Tony debated. It wasn't a financial decision but an emotional one. He gave in, knowing he couldn't make Gibbs sit in a hotel room alone all weekend while he shuttled back and forth to the hospital. If that was even his plan. Right then, Tony had no idea what he was going to be doing all weekend, but he figured being around Gibbs would help ground him if he needed it—that _was_ why he had agreed to let Gibbs come anyway. In truth, he really didn't want to be alone.

"Okay," he said, following Gibbs into the hotel.

**

* * *

**They walked into the room, Tony letting Gibbs go first and letting him claim his choice of beds. Just looking at the neatly smoothed comforter made him realize how tired he was and how much he wanted to simply sleep through this whole mess. Gibbs dropped his bag onto the bed nearest the door and watched Tony eye the mattress longingly.

"Been a long day," Gibbs said. "Long week."

Tony sighed. "I'm going tonight, Gibbs."

The lead agent smiled softly. "Had to try."

Tony went to stand by the window and looked out into the late-summer night. "I'd like nothing more than to pass out for the rest of the night and go tomorrow," Tony admitted to the glass. "But he might be gone tomorrow," he said so quietly Gibbs almost missed it.

Gibbs didn't know what to say to that so he asked, "You bring your badge? Might help you with stubborn nurses trying to enforce visiting hours."

Tony nodded. "Apparently I wasn't completely out of my mind while packing." He was silent a moment. "There's another reason I want to go tonight."

"She might not be there?" Gibbs ventured, studying Tony's back, noting the tension in his shoulders. He could practically see the knots there since Tony had changed out of his suit, and it made Gibbs realize he had been able to read DiNozzo so much easier when he had dressed more casually. Gibbs suddenly couldn't remember the last time he had seen Tony not in an insanely expensive suit, but he also found himself thinking of Kate and shook off the thoughts.

"Yeah," Tony said. "How crappy a person does it make me? That I feel like I can judge her by whether she's there holding vigil or not?"

Gibbs lifted a shoulder. "Doesn't make you a bad person, DiNozzo. That's the investigator in you."

Tony flinched at the slight hint of pride in Gibbs' tone, and the older man saw the reaction in the glass. _Hell, DiNozzo…_

Tony turned finally. "I'm going to go before I fall asleep standing here," he said, moving toward the door. "I'll be quiet when I get back."

Gibbs glared at him.

"What?" Tony asked, seeing the look.

"You really think I'm going to let you go alone?" Gibbs asked, erasing the glare and trying to soften his tone.

Tony winced. "I was hoping…"

Gibbs fought the urge to headslap him. "No way. I came here for moral support, Tony. I can't do that remotely. And I don't skip out on my promises. Come on."


	3. Chapter 3

They left the room, and a glance at his watch told Tony it was almost midnight. Thinking back to Gibbs' earlier words, he almost hoped some nurse would go militant on them and refuse entry. But he knew from experience that there wasn't a nurse in the world who wouldn't break under his boss's icy blue glare. _So much for that_, he thought, looking up at the hospital looming out of the darkness. Approaching from this direction, he recognized the building and felt his heart start to hammer in his chest.

"Oh, shit," he whispered, stopping short in the middle of the sidewalk.

Gibbs turned to his agent at the soft epithet and saw that Tony's face was bone-white and he was shaking so hard his teeth were rattling in the warm night.

"Tony?" Gibbs asked, pushing him out of the light foot traffic and onto a bench.

Tony found himself hyperventilating for the second time that day and felt his face burn with shame as Gibbs calmly pushed his face between his knees again.

"Breathe, Tony," he said again, one hand on the back of Tony's head, one on his knee, not caring about the people staring at them as they walked by. "It's okay, Tony. Just breathe."

Tony recovered quickly, but he clamped a hand over his mouth to keep from throwing up as he looked up at the horribly familiar building. He breathed through his nose for a moment and lowered his hand. His eyes dropped to Gibbs' hand on his knee and he felt another rush of shame.

"I'm sorry, Gibbs. I—"

"Quiet, DiNozzo," Gibbs said firmly but without bite. "I've seen you stare down the barrel of a gun without blinking. You've got nothing to be ashamed of with me. Got it?"

Tony closed his eyes and drew a shaky breath. "Yeah. I got you."

Tony was expecting the reassuring warmth of Gibbs' hand to leave his knee so he was surprised when the man's grip tightened slightly. "Talk to me, Tony," he said, his voice low and concerned. Tony tried to remember the last time he had heard that tone and couldn't come up with anything.

"I can't go in there," Tony said, hating how pathetic his strangled words sounded.

Gibbs felt the quivering in DiNozzo's taut muscles under his hand and saw the haunted pain in his eyes. "This isn't just about him, is it?"

Tony's eyes flew up to meet his gaze. The corner of his mouth quirked upward for a half-second before he frowned and asked, "How do you do that?"

"Experience," Gibbs said, lifting a shoulder. "You'll terrorize junior agents with it someday, too."

Tony blocked the compliment from his mind as soon as he registered it for what it was because he couldn't handle the thought that Gibbs wouldn't be around someday. He knew it would happen; he just couldn't think about it right then.

Tony spoke, wondering how this was suddenly the easier topic and wondering if that was why Gibbs had planted that thought in his head. "You know how my mother died?"

Gibbs shook his head, answering honestly. "No. Wasn't ever my business to know."

Tony nodded. "Bone cancer," he said, trying to find the best way to describe the long months of agony that cause of death represented. "It took, uh, a long time to kill her. She was here for months, suffering through the worst pain I've ever been a witness to—and I watched a guy get tortured half to death by a mafia maniac in Philly. She was so brave through it all, the tests, the treatments we all knew wouldn't work, the pain that got so bad near the end that I actually wanted to go back to school just to escape it. But I couldn't leave her. Not when she was suffering like that."

Gibbs didn't speak. He had known Tony hadn't had an easy childhood, but he never imagined what he'd endured while just trying to grow up.

Tony took another deep breath, still staring at Gibbs' hand on his leg, feeling pathetically grateful for the contact because it gave him the strength to continue. "Her last few days were the worst. Not because of the cancer—we had been through hell with it already and as much as you think it's not possible, you eventually start to get used to the horror of it—but because he left three days before she died. I remember sitting there in her room, watching her breathe, watching the nurses come and go, and I felt so alone. It was like she was already gone because she was beyond communicating. But she was still aware. I just wanted him to come back. So we could be together when she finally let go. I hated him because I thought she was hanging on, even though she was suffering so much, waiting for him to come back. And he never did."

A single tear rolled down Tony's face, but he seemed unaware of it. Gibbs felt like his heart was being ripped from his chest even as he felt boiling rage surge through his veins. No wonder the kid craved attention so badly: He had been orphaned at age eight, one parent taken by disease and one gone by selfish choice.

"My last words to her were 'I'll tell him you said good-bye,' " Tony whispered, completing the forced extraction of Gibbs' heart. "Then the monitors all went crazy and I bolted. It took security a couple hours to find me, sobbing my face off in a storage closet. He sent one of the housekeepers to get me. One of the mean ones who didn't like me because I was the spoiled brat who always tracked mud into the house."

Tony scrubbed his hands against his face and looked down at the moisture on them in amazement that turned quickly to embarrassment. "Hell, Gibbs, I'm so sorry—"

Gibbs blinked in shock. He tried to imagine turning his back on Kelly if she had lived while her mother died. He couldn't even begin. "You're going to _apologize _to me? After that?"

Tony flinched, misunderstanding his rough emotion. Tony sounded almost frightened when he spoke, and Gibbs started seeing red. "I didn't… I'm s… I…"

"Tony," Gibbs said, managing to pull calm out of thin air. "It's okay. I just had no idea. I'm the one who's sorry, Tony. That you had to go through that. Alone."

Tony looked back up at the building and shuddered in the warm night air. "I just can't go in there. I said I'd never set foot in that hospital again. And I didn't mean to dump all that on you."

"You can talk to me, Tony," Gibbs said, waiting for DiNozzo to look at him. "Whatever you need to get out, I can handle it. And if you don't want to see him, I don't blame you. I never would have guilted you into coming if I had known what he did to you. We'll go get some sleep and go home in the morning, if that's what you want."

Tony rubbed his hands over his eyes tiredly. "I'm here. I should just go in there." But he choked on the words before they even left his mouth.

"Tell you what," Gibbs said, standing. "It's been a long day. You're exhausted and upset. Go get some sleep and make a decision in the morning."

Tony debated that, feeling as tired as he had ever felt in his life—including the long days spent recovering from the plague. "What if he's … gone … in the morning?"

Gibbs drew a slow breath. "Then we'll stay for the funeral and you can get closure there." He softened his tone even more. "If he's as bad as she said, then it probably won't be much different."

Tony nodded and stood on shaky legs. He looked back at the looming building and shivered in the humid darkness. Gibbs almost put a hand on his arm to steady him, but he didn't. He was fairly sure DiNozzo would shatter at the gentle show of support.

They made their way back to the hotel in silence and both collapsed as soon as they walked through the door. Tony was out before his head hit the pillow, but Gibbs found himself suddenly unable to sleep. He stared at the ceiling in the darkness and couldn't help thinking of his own daughter.

Maybe it was because he had spent so much of her short life deployed, but he couldn't remember a single time when he hadn't been glad to spend time with her, to play with her, to watch her sleep or color or complain about bedtime. He imagined a world in which he had lost only Shannon and all he could think of was how much he would want to cling to his remaining family—his child. Even though he knew seeing his daughter's eyes, so much like her mother's, would probably hurt, at least they could share their grief, their memories.

The idea of turning his back on a child in pain was too much for him, and Gibbs felt his anger's swift return. It was probably for the best that Tony's father was near death; Gibbs wanted to kill the man himself.

Gibbs turned on his side, catching sight of Tony's face in the moonlight streaming through curtains neither had bothered to close. Tony looked untroubled and Gibbs was glad for the rest he was getting. He was going to need it. Gibbs knew Tony wouldn't back down in the morning. He had meant what he said about Tony staring death in the face without blinking. And he knew his agent would face his fears once he was more well-rested and distanced from the agonizing memories of his mother's painful death.

Because it was the right thing to do.

Gibbs watched Tony's right hand twitch in his sleep and a soft smile curve his mouth, and Gibbs wondered what he was dreaming about. Whatever it was, it must have been pleasant, and Gibbs rolled over with a smile of his own. Tony was strong. He would get through this. And if he needed to be not strong, then Gibbs would be there for him.

It was the right thing to do.


	4. Chapter 4

They walked toward the hospital again, the scene similar to the previous night but brighter and even warmer. The same tremors shook Tony's hands at the sight of the building, but he stuck them in his pockets and commanded his feet to move forward.

Gibbs didn't speak and he forced his eyes to stay on the hospital and not on his quivering companion. Gibbs knew he was lucky on this warm summery morning because his battle was the easier, by far. He was seriously worried about Tony because he had barely said two words all morning, but Gibbs wasn't pushing him. He found he couldn't, really.

Gibbs felt a flare of pride when Tony's step barely faltered as he pushed open the doors and stepped into the building that held so many bad memories, so much past pain. Tony got a room number from the information desk and headed toward the elevator. Gibbs followed silently, wondering where Tony would want him to be during this. He wondered if Marianne would be here.

Tony's hand shot out suddenly, smacking the emergency-stop button and drawing a look from Gibbs. "Eh, DiNozzo?" he said, questioningly. Gibbs couldn't help smiling even though Tony looked troubled.

Tony just sighed. "I know. I'll make it quick before they call security." He paused for a second. "I didn't even think about who else might be here. I can handle Marianne. I can handle a stranger."

"But not other family?" Gibbs asked thoughtfully, because he hadn't seriously considered the possibility, either. "You think they might be here?" he asked, having no idea who "they" might be.

"Who knows?" Tony said. "There are all those cousins, his sisters. I just can't—"

Gibbs reached around him and flipped the switch, restarting the elevator. He punched a button for a higher floor. "I'll get off here," he said, watching Tony's reflection in the silvery door. "Meet you up a floor, okay?"

Tony couldn't help smiling. "You'd do recon for me?" he asked lightly, but there was real emotion in his voice.

Gibbs lifted a shoulder. "Not my first time doing this dance," he said.

The doors opened and he stepped out of the car before Tony could ask if he meant dodging relatives or actual combat. He figured it was probably both. As he lounged by the elevator a floor up, he took the time to thank all things holy that he had someone like Gibbs in his life. He had always known the man cared about him, had known it for a long time now, had even known it—deep down—during that whole Mexico disaster. But Gibbs' support was more than he could have ever hoped for—more than he had ever allowed himself to want or need. Simply accepting his kindness scared him more than he was willing to admit, even to himself.

He forced his face into blankness as the elevator dinged and Gibbs waved him in. "Just him," Gibbs said. "And Marianne."

Tony leaned against the wall beside him in relief, but then he frowned. Turning slightly, he asked, "How do you know it's her?"

Gibbs just gave him a look, and Tony grinned. He shook his head. "Yeah, okay."

They made their way down the hall, and Gibbs stopped near the door, giving Tony a meaningful look. "Where do you want me?" he asked softly, watching Tony's shaking hands.

"It doesn't matter," Tony said after a moment. He cursed the tremors running through him at the mere thought of seeing his father, of meeting this woman. "Wherever you want to be."

Gibbs frowned. "Hey," he said, wanting to reach out and take Tony by the arm. But he didn't. "No, Tony. What do _you_ want?"

Tony shuddered and Gibbs saw it. The lead agent tried not to flinch. _What did he do to you, Tony? _

"Come with me?" Tony said, and it came out a question. He really had no idea what he wanted, but he knew it was a strange and alien feeling to be asked in a situation like this. For his opinion to matter in anything regarding his father.

Gibbs nodded and met his eyes. "He, uh, doesn't look so good," he said softly, itching to touch him as Tony shuddered again. "Take your time, okay?"

Tony swallowed hard and blinked back sudden tears. _Why the hell am I even here? He wasn't there when it was me not looking so good. _He turned to the door again and tried to force himself to enter it. _But Gibbs was there for me then. He's here for me now. Don't screw this up, DiNozzo. _

Gibbs watched Tony quickly erase the tears and set an appropriate mask over his anguish. He wished Tony would just leave the mask in the hall—or better yet, go toss it off the roof. As embarrassing and frightening as it would be for the younger man, Gibbs wished he would just give in to the tears. He didn't want Tony to hurt, but he also didn't want him to think it wasn't okay, either.

Tony knocked lightly on the door, and the woman beside the bed shot up out of her seat. Tony barely had time to take in her silvery hair, her soft plumpness, the grandmotherly sparkle in her kind eyes before she wrapped her arms around him in a gentle hug.

_Shit_, Gibbs thought, watching Tony's body go taut as piano wire in the soft embrace. He knew Tony was seeing his father's gray, sunken face over the woman's shoulder and that, coupled with her show of kindness, would probably be enough to break him.

There was a reason Gibbs hadn't touched Tony all morning.

The woman held on long enough to make Gibbs want to shoot her—and for Tony to lift a shaky hand and pat her back. She finally pulled away and must have seen the devastation that Tony couldn't quite hide.

"I am so sorry," she whispered, following his eyes and stepping back. "Would you like some time alone with him?"

Tony looked at the ruined shell that once held his father and almost begged her to hug him again. "Uh, no," he said, not realizing he was backing toward the door. He almost ran smack into Gibbs as he bolted with a mumbled, "Be right back."

Gibbs watched him flee, saw the hand clamped desperately over his mouth and let him go, knowing he would probably want to be alone for what was coming. He turned back to the woman, saw her looking at the man in the bed with a surprising bitterness, and he extended a hand. "Jethro Gibbs," he said. He jerked a nod over his shoulder at the door. "His boss."

She shook his hand and he found her grip surprisingly firm. She looked at him with an appraising eye. "Much more than that," she said knowingly. "I'm glad he has someone. From what his father has told me, he didn't do a very good job filling that role in that young man's life."

Gibbs blinked at her perception—and her bluntness. He immediately revised his opinion of her.

"I'm Marianne," she said, her eyes still on the unconscious man. The bitterness was back. "Damned fool man. I _told_ him to try to connect with his son. That we get only so much time here and to leave the past in the past. He picked up the phone so many times but never made the call. I bet he wishes he had now."

Gibbs thought back to what Tony had said about his phone call with her yesterday and realized DiNozzo had misread her. She knew exactly who he was. "Maybe you should tell him that," Gibbs advised, keeping the bite from his tone. It was obvious this woman loved the dying man deeply.

She nodded, taking her seat back but not picking up the man's limp hand. "Oh, I will," she said determinedly, but her tone softened and she met Gibbs' eyes. "But not yet. I'm not sure the poor boy can handle that just yet."

Gibbs' opinion of the woman shot through the roof at that.

She looked to the door through which Tony had fled and she winced. "I shouldn't have hugged him," she said, letting out a frustrated breath. "But he looked so sad, and well, I'm Italian so it's kind of what we do."

She smiled a tiny smile, but there was a question in her eyes. Gibbs saw it, read it and said, "I'd go check on him, but Tony usually prefers to puke—" _and break down _"—alone."

She smiled knowingly. "Don't we all?"

They were quiet for a moment, but Gibbs found it wasn't awkward and he started to hope that he had made the right decision in pushing Tony to come here. A soft rustle behind him announced Tony's return, and Gibbs turned, surprised to see him lounging against the wall, pale-faced but lacking the red-rimmed eyes Gibbs had been expecting. He wondered how long DiNozzo had been standing there. _You'll terrorize junior agents with _that_, too. _

Tony shoved off the wall and approached Marianne, who stood and offered her hand. "Let's try this again," she said with a smile as she watched him try not to look at his father. "I'm Marianne Cappella. It's very nice to finally meet you, Anthony."

Tony blinked at the surname. "Not DiNozzo?"

She shook her head, and he realized he had misunderstood her—several times—on the phone. He thought back to his explanation to Gibbs and knew she had been asking _if _he was his son, not that she was surprised he had one. It shouldn't have surprised him, though, since it was amazing he had comprehended anything beyond the words father, hospital, dying.

"I'm going for coffee," Gibbs said, knowing Tony would be okay with Marianne—and hoping he would drop his guard without his boss around. He met Tony's eyes before leaving. _You know where to find me if you need me._

Tony gave an almost imperceptible nod and turned back to face the woman, suddenly glad she was there to distract him from concentrating too much on his father, who was, for all intents and purposes, already gone. He felt his stomach flip again at what he had realized when he'd first laid eyes on the wasted man: They would never speak again. He was never going to hear the things he wanted to hear from his father—and he would never be able to tell him the things he needed to say.

He found Marianne watching him with an incredible depth of sympathy and understanding. It made him ache. He struggled to find words, but for once in his life, he couldn't find a single thing to say.

"Would you like some time with him?" she asked again.

Tony nodded, not because he actually wanted to be alone with the man—that was the last thing he wanted—but because he wasn't sure he could speak to explain that to her.

She nodded and stood, but she stopped and laid a wrinkled hand on the back of her partner's. "_Forse è meglio non si può parlare con lui. Si sarebbe probabilmente fare sbagliato, miei cari, dannato stolto," _she whispered.

Tony laughed softly even as pain wrapped its fiendish claws around his heart at her words: _Maybe it is best you cannot speak to him. You would likely mess it up, my dear, damn fool. _

He looked up at her, admiration blooming in his green eyes as he met her wide brown ones. She looked mortified. "I'm so sorry," she said quickly, looking down at her hand on his father's. "I didn't know you spoke the language. The way you pronounced your surname…"

He just smiled at her, surprised his mouth remembered how to form the expression. He shrugged. "People at least have a chance of spelling it right that way."

"But they never do," she said, matching his smile and moving toward the door.

His smiled melted away as he watched her start to go. "Wait," he said, hating how pathetic he sounded.

She stilled, looking back at him, his father, and then back at his eyes. He realized she was probably a bit shaken by their strong resemblance.

"Will you stay?" Tony asked hesitantly.

She nodded, moved like she was going to touch his shoulder but stopped herself. She simply took her seat again and studied Tony's face. "Jethro seems like a nice man," she said, knowing instinctively that Tony wasn't ready for anything deeper.

Tony smiled again. "Nice? Yeah, he can be," he said, realizing how bad that had to sound to someone who didn't know him as anything other than a boss who had accompanied a coworker on a very personal trip. "He's kind of old-school, I guess. I mean, he cares, but he doesn't always show it. I mean, he rarely shows it, which makes it that much more meaningful when he does, but he's mostly…"

Tony stopped, realizing he was in the middle of an Abby-esque ramble. But Marianne just smiled. "Tough love?" she offered.

He smiled again, trying not to feel guilty about doing it while his father lay there so… sick.

"Yeah," Tony said softly. "He'd lie down in traffic for me and then yell at me for ruining his shirt."

She smiled back at him. "You're lucky to have someone like that in your life."

She winced, immediately hearing the unspoken thought that lingered between them. Switching gears slightly, she asked, "You like your job?"

"Can't imagine doing anything else," Tony answered, wondering what she knew about his father's feelings about his chosen occupation.

"Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo," she said, smiling. "Has a nice ring to it. And law enforcement is such a noble calling. You should be proud."

He eyed her, reevaluating her grandmotherly charm so he wouldn't have to acknowledge the pain that ripped through him at the word "proud." He kicked himself even as he was saying, "Too bad he didn't agree."

Tony's eyes dropped to his hands as he insulted the dying man who couldn't hear his derision.

"Oh, Anthony," she said softly but without reproach.

He looked up at her, holding up a hand. "Don't, please," he said, his eyes hard but his voice low and pained. "I don't know what lies he spun for you, but please don't try to tell me he was proud of my choice of profession. He didn't like my being a cop. I know that."

She looked at him for a long moment, gathering her thoughts, her heart aching for the young man. "Of course he didn't like it," she said, hoping she wasn't being too forward with someone she had just met. But she was never the type to back down from something this important. She knew she didn't have much time with Anthony, and she loved his father enough to walk this hard road.

"Thank you," Tony said stiffly, sinking into a chair opposite her when he really wanted to run far, far away.

"No," she said, shaking her head. "You misunderstand me. He didn't like your job—but not for the reasons you think he didn't."

Tony narrowed his eyes at her, wondering how much she really knew about him—and the man she had been with for only months. He realized that might not be true though. Just because his father hadn't mentioned her during his visit didn't mean he hadn't been seeing her then. It wouldn't be the first time the man had hid a relationship from him.

"It's a dangerous profession, Anthony," she said, meeting his eyes. "He worried about you."

Tony couldn't help himself. He laughed. But he had to give his father credit. He knew where he got his lying skills from. He found Marianne looking at him sternly. "I'm sorry," Tony said, meaning it. "But I just can't buy that. I almost died a few years ago and he was nowhere to be found."

"Was it easy for you to come here?" she asked.

His gaze turned steely and he thought about leaving. _I don't need this. Just walk away. He'd probably be proud of _that.

"And yet here I am," he said, barely able to keep his anger out of his voice.

He saw tears well in her eyes, and he dropped his angry gaze to his hands again.

"I'm sorry," she said. She looked ashamed of herself, and for some reason that made Tony feel worse. "I have no right to talk to you like that." She paused, watching him with compassionate eyes. "Not knowing what I know about all he's done to you."

Tony's eyes jerked up at the soft admission and realized he was suddenly terrified of this soft old woman. _What the hell _do_ you know about me?_ he thought wildly.

He watched her seem to make up her mind about something. "I'm defending him because I love him," she said, her voice cracking slightly, and she forced her eyes away from the dying man. "It's easy for me to forget about what he's put you through because he never abandoned me, never hurt me. Whoever he was when you were a child is not the man I fell in love with, and it just breaks my heart that you'll never get to see him as I did. I'm sorry for that, Anthony. I really am."

She stood shakily, the tears threatening to spill from her eyes. "I'm going to go. Give you some time with him."

He felt guilt kick him hard in the gut. "Wait, Marianne, please."

"No," she said, shaking her head as the tears made their way down her cheeks. "I should have left the minute you got here."

Tony watched her go even though everything in him was screaming to stop her. He simply lacked the strength to get up, though. His eyes returned from the door to land on his father's ashen face. As much as he wanted to get up and leave, something made him stay. After a few moments, he moved to take Marianne's vacated seat, mostly because he didn't like having his back to the door. He started to reach out to touch his father's hand, but just looking at the withered limb made him feel his earlier nausea start to rise again.

He closed his eyes, wrapping his arms protectively around himself as he thought about the last time his father had touched him. It was in that fancy hotel lobby months ago, and he had patted him twice. _"I love you, Anthony. I love you."_

"Really, Dad?" Tony whispered, his eyes opening and then snapping shut again against stubborn tears that blurred his vision. "Why the hell did I even start to believe that? You lied to me then, just like you always lied to me. You'd tell me you would be at my game and never show. But I always believed you. No matter how many times I searched the stands for your face and never found it, I always believed you'd be there next time. Why don't I ever learn? I'm an investigator, goddammit. I make my living finding patterns, but I could never see the one that was right in front of my face. I never saw that one."

He stopped talking and opened his eyes, blinking until he was satisfied the tears would stay put. "I guess it doesn't matter anymore. You were never there when I needed you, and now you won't ever be there for me."

He stood, unable to even be in the room with the man anymore—even though he was practically already gone.

Tony walked away without a backward glance.

* * *

**A/N: **The Italian is an Internet translation so it's undoubtedly wrong. But I left it because it looks pretty. Thank you to everyone is reading and reviewing. I wish I could respond to each and every one because they really make my day, but I'm just crazy-busy right now. Please know I'm extremely appreciative!

Cheers,  
AT


	5. Chapter 5

Gibbs sat drinking bad coffee and wondering if he had time to wander away from the hospital cafeteria to find something that didn't taste like ground, roasted plastic. He stayed put, though, working on his second cup, because he didn't like the thought of Tony coming to find him and not being able to.

The last thing DiNozzo needed was to be abandoned. Again.

"This seat taken?"

Gibbs looked up in surprise at Marianne's red-rimmed eyes. He shook his head slowly, wondering what had happened.

She sat heavily, rubbing a hand over her face. "I messed that up," she confessed.

"Bad?" Gibbs asked, wanting to get up and go find Tony, make sure he was okay. He doubted he was, considering the pain on Marianne's face.

She nodded, staring down at her hands. "Really bad."

Gibbs just waited, unwilling to offer comfort to this stranger even though he had glimpsed hints of her strength upstairs. He figured his reserves needed to be conserved for Tony—he was certainly going to need them.

"Ever since he called to say he was coming, I told myself to watch what I said. I knew the last thing I should do is defend the man," she said, sighing. "I think he knew he was dying. He confessed an awful lot of misdeeds to me, shared all kinds of horrible memories. His guilt was like a living, breathing thing between us, and I would have left if I didn't know how important it was for him to get it out. But I just loved him too much to leave him."

"I'm glad at least one of them got it out," Gibbs couldn't help saying, feeling his anger rising again.

She flinched. "I know," she said simply. "And that's why I told myself not to defend him. And that I should just keep my mouth shut on the whole subject. I knew anything I said would be meaningless and empty coming from me. But now that he can't say it, I felt like someone should. I just want Anthony to know that his father did love him."

Gibbs didn't speak—not out of cruelty, because the woman obviously had wanted to do the right thing and that counted a lot for Gibbs, but because he wasn't sure what to say. He had no idea what Tony's thoughts were on that painful subject.

"How do I fix it?" she asked.

Gibbs raised an eyebrow. "You think I have an answer for that?"

She sighed. "I just… You're obviously close, and I…"

Gibbs watched her flail and knew she really did mean well. He frowned. "Listen, I've hurt him too," he said, the words "You'll do" echoing loudly in his head. "I know the best way for me to apologize. But I can't tell you what you should do."

She took a deep breath and stood. "Well, then," she said, shaking her head slightly. "I guess I'd better go figure it out."

She turned and left before she could even read the admiration on Gibbs' face.

* * *

Marianne ran into Tony just outside the cafeteria. She saw him regarding her with blank eyes and was startled by the lack of any emotion in them. She couldn't imagine he wasn't feeling _something_.

"Marianne," he said, his voice giving away nothing.

She almost flinched at the deadness in him. "Anthony, there you are," she said. She took a breath. "Listen. I'm truly sorry about everything I said to you. I know you're probably in hell right now, and the last thing you need is me making you feel worse."

His flat eyes met hers. "You don't have to apologize to me. You obviously love him."

She nodded, wishing he would be angry with her—or something. Anything but this blank emptiness. "I have for a long time now," she said. "But it still doesn't excuse my behavior."

"How long have you been together?" he asked, genuinely curious.

She looked guilty again. "Almost five years."

She watched him take that like a sucker punch before shoving his face behind a mask of casualness. _No one should be able hide emotions that strong that well, that quickly. Oh, my dear Anthony, what did you do to this boy? As if I don't already know,_ she thought with a shudder.

Tony nodded. "Then I'm the one who should apologize. You know him better than I ever did. I shouldn't have come here. I wouldn't be welcome if he were awake anyway."

"Anthony, no," she said, watching him flick glances toward the hospital's exit. "He loved you."

"Really?" Tony scoffed, unable to hide the anger as efficiently as the pain. "Never mind. Now isn't the time to debate that. I'm glad he found you. And I'm glad you made him happy. No one ever stayed with him that long—not after my mother. I'm sorry, Marianne, for your loss."

He turned to leave, figuring he could just wait outside for Gibbs to find him. But her soft words stopped him.

"Please don't leave angry. I don't want to have to tell him I failed you too."

Tony was glad his back was to her so she wouldn't see the agony on his face. He wanted to turn around and lay into her. To scream into her face that he didn't owe her shit. That he didn't owe either of them a goddamned thing.

And he would have. If he didn't know exactly what she was doing. He had seen her perception upstairs in that horrible room.

She spoke again to his tensed back. "Please come back and let me try this again? Let me do this right? You don't have to come back tonight, but please. Just don't leave?"

Tony didn't speak. He couldn't.

He simply walked away.

* * *

Gibbs found him slumped on a bench outside, staring blankly at the big fountain in front of the building. He approached slowly, having no idea where Tony's head was at that moment. He sat beside his agent, not speaking for several long minutes while Tony's eyes seemed to be drowning in the spraying water.

"We used to come out here before it got bad," Tony said after a deep, shaky breath. "She hated hospitals with a passion. Made my dislike for them seem like nothing."

Gibbs suddenly realized just why DiNozzo hated hospitals so much, and he kicked himself for not realizing it sooner.

"And she could yell, too," Tony was saying, his voice soft and faraway. "She definitely made her displeasure known. So we would sneak out here every chance we got while she was still able, and then we'd get caught, she'd scream at the nurses and finally let me drag her back inside. Never him. Just me. It was December when I found her out here one night, shaking and crying so hard I thought she might break. I mean, I was shaking too because it's fucking cold here in December."

He stopped, wincing at the curse word. "Sorry, Boss," he said, but Gibbs just shrugged. Tony looked lost for a minute before continuing, his voice a low, pained lullaby. "I couldn't figure out why she was crying—or why she was out here when it was so… cold. She was getting really weak by then, and we hadn't been out here in a long time. I don't even know how she made it by herself. And that's when I realized that she knew. She knew she was never leaving this place."

Tony breathed deeply, trying to ease the aching knot in his chest. He didn't look away from the fountain. "He found us just in time to hear me tell her she should go home. I didn't say 'to die,' but we all knew that's what I meant. She smiled at me then and said she would like that. To see her piano one last time. To hear me play for her," Tony said, his voice breaking.

He felt Gibbs' hand settle on the back of his wrist, and the simple, gentle contact sent tears streaming down his face. He took a shuddering breath, ignored the tears, and continued. "He wouldn't let her, though. He actually said she belonged here. I couldn't understand it. I still don't. But he made her go inside, and he took me home with him that night. I should have known something was very, very wrong with that because I was practically living here by that point. The only times he ever made me come home were when he got jealous of the time we were spending together while he was at work. He didn't have to work then. He chose to, but that was somehow my fault."

Gibbs listened, wanting to tell him none of this was his fault. But he didn't. He just listened.

"That was the first time he ever hit me," Tony said, and Gibbs felt his free hand clench into a fist in reflexive anger. He forced himself to relax so he didn't break the spell. Tony obviously needed to get this out, and Gibbs damned sure wasn't going to scare him off from doing just that. "He punched me, a closed fist to the face, and then made me stay in my room for a week. I didn't really care that he'd hit me, but I was furious because he wouldn't let me leave the house until the bruises faded. I spent that whole week hating him so much it made me sick. I guess he wasn't really lying when he told her I was too sick to be with her. I just hated him so much for taking away a week that I could have had with her.

"She wrote me a letter every day that week, called me every night."

Gibbs took in Tony's soft smile at that warm memory and was hugely relieved that Tony had at least had the unconditional love of one parent, that he had known that kind of love once. Gibbs' relief faded when he realized that had probably just made it harder when she died and Tony was left with a selfish, uncaring bastard for a father. He realized Tony was just silently staring at the fountain, the tears having dried on his cheeks.

"I'm so sorry, Tony," was all Gibbs could come up with—and he kicked himself, not for breaking his stupid rule but for not having anything better to offer.

Tony finally turned and looked at him. Gibbs read shame and embarrassment and pain in his eyes before all emotion blinked out of them for good. "You kicking yourself for that offer yet?" he asked, looking away to viciously scrub at his tear-streaked face.

Gibbs almost sighed. "Seriously, DiNozzo?" he asked, exasperated. "You obviously need to get this out, and I'm glad you trust me enough to finally let me in. Is it easy hearing you spill your heart out like this? No, it's not. But nothing worth doing is ever easy. Get it out, Tony. Get it out and let it go. It's the only way. Trust me, I know."

Tony blinked in shock at his oblique reference to his lost family. There were so many things he could say to that, but he just said, "Thanks, Gibbs. For everything."

Gibbs just nodded, then asked, "So what's the plan? I saw Marianne and she said things didn't go so well between you two."

Tony flinched, feeling his guilt start to chew on him again. "I was my usual charming self," he said with a grimace. "I made her cry."

"The way she was beating herself up, I'd say she thought she deserved it," Gibbs said, glancing at Tony briefly.

"No one deserves that," Tony said softly. "Not at a time like this. Not when she obviously loves him. She's been with him for five years. Can you believe that?"

"No," Gibbs said truthfully, wondering how Tony felt about that. Gibbs found himself imaging happy holiday gatherings that could have been if the man dying up in that room hadn't been such a selfish son of a bitch. Gibbs knew that Tony never requested holidays off. In fact, he often volunteered to work them so his coworkers could be with their families.

"Can we go?" Tony asked suddenly, standing and looking around as if lost.

"Back to the District?" Gibbs asked as he stood.

Tony debated, thinking of Marianne's soft plea. He really didn't owe her anything. "You okay with staying one more day? I'm not sure I could live with myself leaving her like that."

Gibbs didn't miss that he said "her" and not "him." _You're a good man, Anthony. _"Sure," he said as they started back to the hotel. "I'll even buy you dinner. Wherever you want."


	6. Chapter 6

Gibbs came awake suddenly that night and saw Tony was gone from the room. He yawned and stretched, noting that it was almost three in the morning and wondering where the agent had disappeared to at that late hour. He thought back over their evening, trying to remember how Tony had been while he showed Gibbs some of the sights and over dinner at a little Italian place Tony remembered going to with his mother years ago.

_"How do you know it'll still be there?" Gibbs had asked when Tony brought it up. _

_Tony just gave him a look. "It's an Italian place," he said as if that explained everything. He saw Gibbs' blank look and continued, "A good one. Those places don't go out of business unless someone dies. And even then, they end up getting passed down through generations."_

_"And if they run out of heirs?" Gibbs asked, smiling a little at the slow return of Tony's accent, which the lead agent knew usually popped up only when Tony was drunk or extremely tired. _

_Tony just laughed. "Italians tend not to run out of offspring," he said. "Big, usually Catholic families and all."_

Gibbs knew that Tony had played it off easily enough, but he had also seen the slight wince at the word "heirs" and knew the exchange was representative of the whole night. Tony had gone from faking fine to nostalgic to sad and back to faking levity all evening. Gibbs hadn't been surprised when Tony passed out early. That much acting had to be exhausting.

Gibbs pulled himself out of bed and saw his keys on the desk in the corner where he had purposely left them out. He knew Tony would probably never take the car—even with express permission—but he had wanted to leave the option open just in case. He winced when he saw Tony's cell sitting next to the keys.

Those options out, Gibbs dressed and made his way down to the hotel bar, surprised to find it nearly half-full of well-dressed people drinking and swaying to soft piano music despite the hour. _City that never sleeps indeed, _he thought as he scanned the patrons for his missing agent. Not finding him, Gibbs went to the bar and ordered a drink. He had no idea where Tony would have gone and he wasn't about to go wandering the city this late. He thought briefly about checking the hospital, but something told him that wasn't where Tony had gone.

Finding himself suddenly not tired, Gibbs sipped his bourbon and scanned the patrons again, noting that most were young and still going strong even at this late hour. He envied their youth and carefree state for a moment before shaking his head. He had made a lot of mistakes in his own youth and had no desire to repeat those learning experiences—even if it meant he could drink and dance until dawn again.

Gibbs sipped, working on his second drink by the time most of the patrons had cleared out. The piano player continued to wring beauty from the shining instrument despite his shrinking audience, and Gibbs was surprised to find himself suddenly on his third drink and alone with the bartender.

"I'm headed out," the man said, eyeing Gibbs' half-full glass. He nodded to the piano in the adjacent room. "But you're welcome to go join him. He bought a bottle so I'm guessing he'll be there a while."

Gibbs nodded and picked up his glass, following the man out of the bar but unsure if he wanted to join a stranger at four in the morning. But the music was soothing and beautiful, and Gibbs found himself sinking into a chair far behind the man, who stopped for a moment to sip from the rocks glass on the lid in front of him.

The graceful movement made Gibbs realize the man was dressed casually in jeans and a long-sleeved black shirt and that there was something familiar about him.

"I hope I didn't wake you when I left," Tony said, making Gibbs almost drop his drink.

Gibbs grinned even though he heard the hesitancy in Tony's voice, like he was a child who got caught doing something he wasn't supposed to instead of a man revealing a gift no one knew about.

"Nope," Gibbs said, watching Tony's long, slender fingers twitch on the keys and willing him to start playing again. This was as relaxed as Gibbs had ever seen his agent. "I had no idea you could play like that."

Tony turned and smiled softly, almost shyly. He lifted a shoulder. "Never really came up in conversation."

"Don't let me stop you," Gibbs said, wanting him to keep playing. He saw Tony's hesitation and moved to get up. "I can go. I didn't mean to disturb you."

The stiff sentiment made Tony wince. "Stay," he said, turning back to the piano.

Gibbs grinned as he watched Tony down the rest of his drink. "Help yourself," Tony said, gesturing to the bottle before launching into Beethoven's _Fur Elise_—his mother's favorite_. _Gibbs listened to the soft music, watched the skill with which Tony played the piece and felt his grin had barely moved once Tony's deft fingers touched the fine instrument. He got up and poured himself a drink, noting Tony's shy little flush upon seeing Gibbs' smile. Gibbs saw there was no sheet music in sight and marveled at Tony's skill.

Unsure if it was rude to talk while Tony played, he opened his mouth and then clamped it shut again before taking a chair off to Tony's right.

"Hmmm?" Tony murmured, seeing the movement.

"Unless you're hiding a tiny piano at your place, where do you play?"

"There's a bar near my apartment," Tony answered without missing a note. "They trade me my fingers for alcohol so it works nicely."

Gibbs nodded, listening to the soft strains and thinking about Kelly's piano, kept in perfect tune in a back room in his house. Maybe it was the thoughts of Kelly's love for the instrument, maybe it was Tony's relaxed face after a day that had been anything but easy, maybe it was the bourbon humming warmly in his veins, but Gibbs found himself saying, "I've got a piano that no one uses anymore."

Tony's fingers faltered on the keys at the soft offer and he grimaced at the discordant _thunk_, but he recovered quickly. "That's a really kind offer, Gibbs."

Gibbs felt his face blush bright red. "You know, if you ever need one outside business hours."

Tony grinned, his fingers moving fluidly again, finishing the piece with a flourish. He refilled his drink and turned back to Gibbs, feeling awkward and suddenly left wide open. It was a feeling he didn't really like, but he forced himself to hold on to the calm the piano had brought over him like a familiar, worn-soft blanket.

"I really want to just go home in the morning," Tony said, glancing at his watch with another wince. "Er, today."

Gibbs watched Tony study him over the rim of his glass as he sipped slowly. "If that's what you want, then we'll go." He flicked a glance at the half-empty bottle on the shiny piano lid. "Once one of us is sober enough to drive."

Tony smiled again, realizing Gibbs was probably about as drunk as he was. "Might be a while."

He stared into his glass long enough to change his mind. "I should say goodbye."

Gibbs just waited, unsure if Tony meant to his father or to Marianne. But after he did not speak, Gibbs said, "She seems like a pretty smart woman. I think she would understand if you didn't."

Tony just shrugged, wishing he hadn't started this conversation—especially half in the bag and at well after four in the morning. "I can't believe she's been with him for five years. I keep thinking how much easier this would be if he had just introduced me to her back then."

Tony sipped slowly again even though he knew his tongue was already too loose for this. "That's longer than he stayed with any of them. Longest before that was just over a year. That was number two. I made the mistake of falling head over heels in love with her. I hated number one. But it wasn't really fair. I would have hated anyone who was the first woman he tried to replace her with. She might have even tried to be nice to me. I don't really remember because I was so lost in my grief. But number two, she never tried to be anything she wasn't. She treated me more like a little brother than a stepson, though, so that's probably why I liked her. I remember asking her early on if she wanted me to call her 'Mom,' and she just laughed and said I'd better not. She didn't want to feel old. Melanie. That was her name. I really liked her."

Tony's attachment issues just kept making more sense the more the man opened up. And as he spoke, Gibbs could practically see his walls melting, probably thanks to the late hour and massive amount of alcohol.

"I mostly ignored the rest. I just couldn't handle getting to know them because I knew they would all leave eventually. He drove them away, and I don't even think he knew he was doing it. But I think deep down he knew there was no replacing my mother. She was just that special. But he couldn't stand to be alone, I guess, and I wasn't enough to fill that void so he just kept finding them, marrying them and then sending them on their way." Tony slid a glance at Gibbs. "You've probably wondered what I did to get disowned at age twelve?"

Gibbs nodded, knowing he couldn't lie—and get away with it. His curiosity was legendary.

"I refused to attend their wedding," he said, shaking his head. "Number four in as many years, so it made perfect sense to me to just not bother. I'm sure he couldn't have cared less if I attended, but the wife, Carla? Carrie? She really wanted me there, apparently. And when he found me in my mother's music room, lounging around in jeans and a T-shirt and playing the wedding march with my own distinct flair, he lost it. Stormed out of the room like the hounds of hell were after him and I thought I'd gotten my way. Until he returned with my tux—and my baseball bat."

Gibbs flinched at Tony's sudden crooked half-smile, and the older man felt like he might be sick—and not because of the sheer volume of alcohol he'd ingested. He knew what was coming.

"He gave me a choice, but I didn't really see how I could choose. I told him to go fuck himself, and that's when he took the first swing."

"Goddammit, DiNozzo," Gibbs breathed, watching Tony's emotionless face, the broken smile long gone.

But Tony just shook his head and lifted a casual shoulder. "Oh, no. The first swing wasn't at me. It was at the piano." He winced, looking pained as he ran a hand over the smooth instrument he was currently seated at. "You know what it takes to reduce an eighty-six thousand dollar Steinway baby grand to a pile of chopsticks? About a dozen well-placed swings with a Louisville slugger."

He breathed slowly, almost carefully. "I cried. I screamed and cried and begged, but it didn't matter. He was beyond reason after the first keys went flying."

Tony's eyes darkened fractionally and Gibbs would have missed it if he hadn't been looking for the anguish. "And that's when he turned the bat on me. Because I wouldn't shut up, and he had a houseful of guests."

Gibbs felt his short fingernails bite into his palm, and it was all he could do not to walk down the block and finish off the dying man in the hospital there. But even worse than the awful story was Tony's complete lack of emotion as he continued dully, his words only the slightest bit slurred.

"He beat me half to death that night, and I don't remember much after the first couple of swings. I woke up in a hospital to an assortment of broken bones and one of his lawyers informing me that I was no longer his son and if I kept quiet about what he had done to me then he would pay for military school."

Tony paused, gently rubbing his left wrist as if it hurt. Gibbs doubted he even knew he was doing it.

"I still wish I would have had the courage to tell him to take his money and shove it."

Gibbs couldn't keep silent any longer. He forced his volume just below an outraged shout and said, "You were twelve, for god's sake, Tony. Alone and hurting and probably scared out of your mind."

Tony lifted an infuriatingly disinterested shoulder again. "It worked out okay for both of us, I guess."

Gibbs closed his eyes and counted to ten. When he opened them, he set his drink aside and placed his hands on Tony's face, just like all those years ago after that fiasco in the sewers. "Listen to me, Tony," Gibbs said, his voice low as he struggled for control. "You turned out better than okay. No, listen to me. I was proud of you before I knew the hell you've been put through. And knowing the man you've become despite all that just makes me even more proud of you. I mean that. You have every reason to hate the world, and yet you've chosen a career to try to make it a better place. You're a damned fine agent, Anthony, and you're a good man. I'm proud of who you are."

Tony swallowed hard at his normally reserved boss's sentiments. He couldn't think of anything to say, and Gibbs' warm hands on the sides of his face were bringing back memories so he asked, "I guess that means I'm still irreplaceable?"

Gibbs laughed, patted Tony's cheek and rolled his eyes. "Yeah, DiNozzo. You're still irreplaceable."


	7. Chapter 7

Tony's eyes opened the next morning and he groaned out loud before remembering where he was—and with whom he was sharing a room.

_Shit. _

"I'll second that," Gibbs said from a chair near the window, and Tony had the ridiculous urge to ask him if he meant the groan or his thought.

Tony sat up and felt a wave of dizziness wash over him. His mouth felt like a furry critter had curled up and died in it, and his hands were shaking like he had palsy. "What time is it?" he asked, rubbing sleep out of bleary eyes and wondering if he would have to pay extra for a room that spun like a carnival ride.

"Almost 0900," Gibbs answered.

Tony groaned again, sliding out of bed and staggering toward the bathroom. "No wonder I'm still drunk."

Gibbs heard the door shut, but the thin panel wasn't enough to keep him from hearing DiNozzo throwing up. _Ouch,_ he thought. _Probably should have cut him off before he about finished that bottle last night. Probably should have cut myself off, too. I'm too old for hangovers like this. _

Gibbs decided he'd wait five minutes after the gagging stopped before making himself get up and go check on DiNozzo to make sure he was still breathing and not collapsed in some alcohol-poisoning-induced coma. _Try explaining _that_ to the director. _

Four minutes and thirty seconds later, Tony opened the door and sagged against the frame, his eyes on the floor as if needing the contact to remain upright. When he raised them to meet Gibbs', the lead agent winced at their bloodshot redness.

"You okay?"

Tony pressed a hand to his roiling belly and thought about puking again. "Relatively," he said, moving to sit on the nearest bed. "Still breathing. I figure that's a start."

Gibbs nodded, watching Tony watch his own hands shake. Gibbs was surprised when Tony looked up nervously at him.

"Uh, Boss?" he asked, as tentative as Gibbs had ever seen him.

Gibbs just waited, meeting his tired eyes.

"About last night—"

"I swear, DiNozzo," Gibbs cut him off, holding up a hand. He would have headslapped him if he didn't think Tony would puke on the spot. "If you even think about apologizing…"

Tony gave him a sheepish smile. And he changed tracks. "I was just, uh, thinking, and I guess I'm a little, well, foggy on the details, but I hope I didn't, um—"

"Spit it out, Tony," Gibbs said, but he was starting to worry about the stuttering mess his usually confident agent had become.

Tony's eyes hit the floor again. "I hope I didn't make a fool of myself last night and cry all over you or something. I mean, I appreciate you letting me talk, but I'm not sure I could handle that… Even if I don't remember it."

"You were fine, DiNozzo," Gibbs said honestly. "Not a single tear." _I wish you would have cried, though. Or screamed or yelled or thrown things. Your zombie-ness is more terrifying than the actual flesh-eating things. And maybe you'd feel better now. If you can feel anything other than what has to be the world's worst hangover, that is. _

Gibbs left out the part about catching Tony's suddenly boneless body when the younger man stood up from the piano too fast after the most bizarre rendition of "Chopsticks" Gibbs had ever heard. He left out the part where Tony had rested his head on Gibbs' shoulder and mumbled a heartfelt if slurred nearly beyond recognition "thanks for everything, Boss," and passed out cold.

Gibbs found himself checking Tony's cheek for a mark from where he had slapped him to wake him up before someone found them. He decided to leave out the part where Tony had come around with a giggle and began singing "99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall" as Gibbs half-carried, half-dragged him back to the room.

Because he was watching Tony's face, Gibbs saw the moment everything about why they were here came crashing back through his liquor-soaked consciousness. He watched Tony take a deep breath, the younger man's eyes going to the window.

"There's no right answer, Tony," Gibbs said, watching DiNozzo smile softly and knowing he'd nailed his thoughts.

Tony didn't speak for a long moment, and he was so still it made Gibbs wonder if it was possible to pass out sitting up. But Tony's face was anything but still, and the longer Gibbs watched the emotions assail him, the more he wanted to grab Tony, shove him in the car, and take him home. To get him as far away from all this pain as fast as his classic car would go.

But it wasn't his decision, and Gibbs wasn't about to force his will on him.

"There's no easy way out, either," Tony finally said, wishing with the fervor of a child that there was. He wasn't sure he had ever wanted something so badly in his life—except maybe to have his father's attention, his love. _Don't,_ he mentally shouted at himself despite his raging headache. _Don't even start down that road. _

Gibbs snorted. "Like you ever take the easy way," he said, watching Tony raise an eyebrow at him. "Not when it matters, you don't."

Tony just put his aching head in his hands. "I'm going back," he said, resigned and resolute at the same time.

Gibbs nodded. "I know."

* * *

Tony leaned his head against the elevator, knowing Gibbs was watching him with concern. It wasn't surprising, considering how bad he knew he looked. And how he had thrown up again when Gibbs handed him a muffin he'd snagged from the hotel lobby while Tony was in the shower.

Tony wished he had forced it down, though, as the elevator dinged and he made his way down the long, sterile hall, because his stomach felt hollow. Tony's eyes came up and he saw Marianne standing in the hallway outside his father's room.

He approached her warily, not even needing her soft words to know.

"He's gone," she whispered, and he opened his arms to her and let her sob against his chest. She shook as she clung to him, her tears soaking his shirt, and he realized she was the only one here. He wondered if she had children, or any other family, and why they weren't here with her.

He realized she was just as alone as he was—maybe even more so considering he was the one with backup.

And so he held her, letting her cry in his arms wrapped tightly around her trembling body. He met Gibbs' eyes over her shoulder and saw the questions in their blue depths. _Are you okay? Do you want me to handle her?_

Tony gave a little shake of his head and rested his cheek against her silvery hair. He whispered, "It's all right, Marianne. I've got you. I'm so sorry."

Gibbs watched Tony console this stranger, and he felt his anger welling up again. But he couldn't direct it at the shattered woman crying in his agent's arms. He mostly just felt mad at the injustice of a world in which a son had to be kind to his dead father's lover when he was the one who really needed comforting. Gibbs listened to Tony's soft litany of reassurances and apologies, and he wondered if Tony even knew just how spectacular a job he was doing at hiding his own pain from Marianne. But Gibbs saw it in his eyes. He watched varying emotions burn through them and saw the moment Tony started to break. Gibbs wondered if Marianne had felt the change in him because she pulled back, wiping her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Anthony," she said, taking a step back at the anger in his green eyes. "Oh. I…"

"It's not you," Tony said tightly, brushing by her and stalking off down the hall.

Gibbs watched him, suddenly glad they were in a hospital and wondering if he should go stop what he knew was coming. He waited a moment, watching Marianne stare off blankly.

"I'm going to check on him," Gibbs said, and got a faraway nod in response.

Gibbs made his way slowly toward the nearest men's room, knowing he couldn't stand by and watch Tony hurt himself—but also knowing it was likely the only way DiNozzo would vent his pain. He pushed the door open carefully and saw Tony slumped against the wall, cradling his bloody left hand to his chest. It made Gibbs glad he'd chosen another black shirt, and he realized _everything _Tony had packed was black. He wondered if he had known he'd done it.

Gibbs crouched beside his agent, wincing both at the popping of his knees and the swelling already present in Tony's injured hand. DiNozzo was staring blankly at the floor just off to Gibbs' left, his face not betraying the multitudes of pain he had to be feeling. Gibbs reached out slowly and took the damaged hand in his.

Tony didn't react.

Gibbs prodded the bloody knuckles, not because it was really necessary, but because he needed DiNozzo to snap out of his trance. Gibbs pressed harder. _Come on, Tony. I don't want to hurt you, but you're scaring me. _He had expected more prolonged anger, honestly. He had expected to be dragging a raging DiNozzo to the floor and explaining to security why the mirrors were suddenly in a thousand tiny pieces.

Tony hissed in pain, and Gibbs loosened his grip but stayed right where he was.

"This from one punch or two?" Gibbs asked, wishing Tony would look at him.

"Two," Tony said numbly, all traces of pain gone from both his voice and his eyes when he finally turned to look at Gibbs. "Didn't think I got it right the first time."

Gibbs sighed, sliding his hand up to Tony's elbow, taking his right hand, and pulling the shaky agent to his feet. "Definitely did with the second," Gibbs said, trying to sound stern.

"Sorry, Boss," Tony said, looking away and dropping his hand to his side even though it intensified the burning pain tenfold.

"Come on," Gibbs said, moving toward the door. "Let's go get that looked at."

"Gibbs, wait," Tony said, not moving from where he leaned against the wall he had used as a punching bag.

"DiNozzo," Gibbs barked, exasperated. "Don't fight me. That's got to hurt like hell and you need to see a doctor."

Tony didn't move from the wall, but he nodded. "I know," he said quietly, surprising Gibbs. "But what do I do about her, Gibbs? She's alone here. Can I really just say goodbye and walk away? What else is there to do? And then there's funeral arrangements, and—"

"Tony," Gibbs said firmly, laying a hand on his agent's shaking arm. "Calm down. Breathe."

Tony did as he was told, but he felt panic rising in him as his swirling thoughts overwhelmed his tired, aching brain.

"What do you want to do?" Gibbs asked.

"This isn't about what I want."

_Is it ever, Tony? _"Yes, it is," Gibbs said, his voice still as firm as the hold he had on Tony's arm to keep him from fleeing.

"It isn't _just_ about what I want," Tony corrected.

Gibbs just gave him a look.

Tony sighed, pulling his hand up to his chest again to try to ease the fiery pain. He almost laughed as he realized he'd had the presence of mind to use his left hand. He didn't know what he had been thinking when he'd slammed his fist into the unforgiving wall, but he knew that it had felt really good to just feel something, even if it was agony. He was regretting that second punch, though.

"I'll go tell her goodbye," Tony said, leaving it at that because he didn't want to make promises he wasn't sure he could keep. He saw Gibbs nod with an incredible depth of understanding in his eyes.

_I don't deserve you, Boss._

* * *

Marianne flinched when she saw his hand, and he kicked himself, sliding it into his pocket even though the contact made it burn anew. He gave her credit for not saying anything about it—and might have laughed if he had seen that it was his boss's glare from behind him that silenced her.

"I'm sorry for your loss, Marianne," he said, putting his best warmth-and-sympathy tone behind his words. He reached out and touched her arm, his long fingers lingering for a moment.

"Thank you," she said, not quite sure what to make of this young man and his quicksilver moods. She realized none of it was probably real and wondered why he felt the need to hide from a stranger he would never see again. "Will you be staying for the funeral?"

Tony took a breath, wishing he had simply walked away—it had worked so well so many times for his father that it was almost fitting. "No," he said, keeping his tone even and low. "Have to get back to work."

He saw Gibbs' fingers twitch and marveled at the man's restraint to not headslap him into next week. But Marianne just nodded, looking rather upset.

Tony closed his eyes, breathing slowly. His eyes flicked to Gibbs, who nodded, making Tony deliriously grateful for their ease with nonverbal communication. _Good for freaking out suspects AND dealing with grieving strangers who should be family. _"When were you planning on having it?" he asked, mostly succeeding in keeping the quiet resignation out of his voice.

Her eyes snapped up to his. "I, uh, there's no need to wait. Tomorrow?"

He raised an eyebrow. "You can pull it together that quickly? It's Sunday," he reminded her, wondering if she had forgotten.

She just nodded. "A family friend owns a funeral home," she said.

"Handy," he murmured without thinking. He cringed. "Sorry."

She just smiled wryly at him and lifted a shoulder. "No, it is."

Tony looked uncomfortable, his stomach twisting more painfully than his injured hand. "What about the rest of the family? They might need more notice."

She regarded him with pain in her brown eyes, and he hoped she wasn't going to touch him again. He wasn't sure he could handle that.

"They knew it could be any day now," she said softly, watching him take that—and all of its implications—like a punch to the gut. "Everything's pretty much already set. They even decided the wake would be at Aunt Daniella's."

Tony swallowed the strangled cry that rose in his throat. Memories of his mother's wake rushed at him, and he forced himself to breathe normally. Marianne looked particularly unhappy, too, and he realized she probably hadn't been given much of a say in things.

"Do they know you called me?" he asked suddenly, feeling ashamed that he didn't know who "they" were. He had no idea which members of his family were still alive, who had gotten married, what schools his younger cousins had chosen, where their lives had led.

She nodded, fear suddenly darkening her eyes.

He read it expertly and was surprised to find himself able to make his tone blank. "They don't want to see me."

Gibbs looked up at that. _What the hell could a twelve-year-old boy, beaten into unconsciousness, have done to deserve that?_

Tony saw the look. "I don't know the details, but from a drunken conversation I had with a cousin a long time ago, I gather he told everyone I walked away from him. Turned my back on the family for Ohio State and football."

She nodded without speaking.

He surprised her by leaning down and kissing her cheeks, right then left. "Don't rush things for me, okay? I'm not sure I'll even come."

"It'll be tomorrow, Anthony," she said, giving him the details and driving home the point that they had all known the man was dying—and still no one had called him until Marianne.

Tony nodded. "I'm so sorry for your loss, Marianne."

She smiled faintly at him, knowing he was itching to get out of there. "Thank you." She paused, then spoke as he turned to go. "He wanted to call you. He picked up the phone so many times and always backed out, too scared, too stubborn, too proud to admit the horrible mistakes he made with you. But he knew he made them and he was sorry for them, even if he never could tell you that. I know you have no reason to trust me, but believe me, Anthony. He loved you."

Tony nodded, unable to speak. He felt Gibbs' presence beside him as he turned and walked away.


	8. Chapter 8

It was raining when they returned to the hotel room later that afternoon after spending half the day in the emergency room waiting to get Tony's hand checked out. Tony had apologized about a thousand times, stopping only when Gibbs headslapped him and said, "Not the first day I've spent with you in an ER, DiNozzo. Knock it off."

Tony dropped exhausted onto the bed and looked over at Gibbs. "You mind if I take a nap? Between the hangover and painkillers, I can barely think straight."

_And grief, Tony. Don't forget _that _pain. You lost your father today. It's okay to hurt._

But Gibbs just nodded and found a pen to start working on the newspaper's crossword puzzle. He waited about two minutes before looking up again and studying his sleeping agent. He sighed at the cast resting on DiNozzo's stomach, knowing he'd be losing his senior agent while the broken bones in his hand healed. But he was actually somewhat grateful that Tony had vented his pain and anger and frustration—even if he wasn't happy with the method. He knew bottling up emotions that strong was never a good thing, and he wondered if he could get DiNozzo to talk to him some more. Gibbs considered dosing him with a handful of painkillers and interrogating him since plying him with alcohol and seating him at a piano was out of the question.

Gibbs winced, thinking about Tony's graceful fingers on the instrument last night and knowing it would be a while before he could play again. He had really never seen DiNozzo as relaxed as when he had been playing, and he filed that away for future use even while hoping it wouldn't ever be necessary.

Once he was sure Tony was well and out, Gibbs pulled out his cell and called the director, letting him know Tony would be taking bereavement time and Gibbs would need to take a vacation day or two. Vance was surprisingly understanding and promised to take the team off rotation until their return. He hung up and briefly thought about calling Abby, knowing the deep bond she shared with his agent. But he decided not to, figuring Tony could use the rest and some space before having to deal with telling his friends of his father's death.

Gibbs' eyes settled on Tony's face again, the lines erased by sleep and strong painkillers, and he stifled a yawn. He got up, stretched and scribbled a quick note about a coffee run, debating whether to make it an extended one or not. Warring urges to give Tony space and stay close to his side waged in his head as he left the room and headed out into the rainy evening.

* * *

Tony awoke to an empty room and saw the note on the table beside the bed—and the bottle of painkillers Gibbs had apparently filled for him. Tony didn't need Gibbs to actually write the order—_Take them, you stubborn ass —_to follow that order. He grabbed the plastic hotel cup Gibbs had left for him and downed two of the pills, hoping they would ease the ache from his damaged hand.

He groaned softly, thinking about the weeks of desk duty—and time away from the calming piano—he had earned himself with his stupidity. But it had made him feel better at the time, when all he had felt was blinding rage that battled bleak nothingness at the news of his father's death.

_Oh, shit,_ Tony thought, the morning suddenly rushing back at him. He felt a flash of shame as he realized he had almost forgotten the man had died.

_Gone. He's just gone now. And I still don't know what to feel. I thought coming here, seeing him would make it better, would make things make sense to me. But it didn't. Seeing his sunken face just made it worse. Now I can't make myself hate him as much. Every time I see his fists, see my blood on them, I have to see his ashen pallor, too. _

_And Marianne. I want to hate her. Just like I wanted to hate all of the stepmothers. But she loves him. And she obviously saw something in him that I can't. Maybe there was something there toward the end that changed. But he could have called me. He came all the way to the District to see me—and now I can't imagine why. Maybe he was going to ask me for money and he backed out when he saw a chance for one last score. And I got relegated to the backburner again. Just like always. _

_I can't go to that funeral tomorrow. There's no way I can face the rest of the family, who all think I'm some traitor to the DiNozzo name because I chose sports over business. I wonder how they would feel knowing I lost everything with a single snap of a ligament. That I never even considered coming crawling back to the family. That I chose law enforcement over them because at least I would make a difference. I knew I would never matter to him, to them, but at least my life would be worth something, to someone. _

The door opened, interrupting his thoughts—and he was grateful. Gibbs nodded to him, and Tony could have sworn he saw guilt in the man's eyes.

"You been up long?" Gibbs asked warily, confirming Tony's suspicions.

Tony shook his head, pushing himself up with a wince.

"Hurting?" Gibbs asked, his eyes narrowing in concern at the lines of pain bracketing Tony's mouth.

"A little," Tony admitted, shifting uncomfortably.

"They don't work unless you take them," Gibbs said mildly, jerking a nod at the bottle beside him.

"Just did," Tony said, eyeing the bag in Gibbs' hands.

Gibbs followed his gaze. "Dinner," he said gruffly. "Thought you might be hungry."

He nodded even though the thought of food made him queasy. "Thanks, Boss."

Gibbs saw the sick look on Tony's face, and he turned the bag slightly sideways, watching his agent's eyes widen as he saw the logo. He couldn't help smiling as Tony gave him a small smile of his own and a look of pure wonderment.

"You were listening? All those times I went on and on about that place?" Tony said softly, wondering why his chest hurt all of a sudden.

Gibbs just handed over the bag of sandwiches from Tony's favorite deli and shrugged. "Just because I don't say anything doesn't mean I'm not listening."

Tony looked upset for a moment and Gibbs couldn't figure out why until the younger man spoke, his voice belying pain that Gibbs couldn't quite attribute to his hand.

"But you remembered."

Gibbs settled onto the bed opposite his agent and sighed. It made him ache to think that a simple act of kindness could cause such an adverse, almost mournful reaction. Gibbs was fairly certain Tony expected him to dump out the bag and find only lumps of coal. The worst part was that Gibbs also figured Tony would simply laugh convincingly at the "joke" and order a pizza. He wanted to say something about it, to ask Tony why he always expected cruelty, but he already knew that answer. And Tony looked tired and still a bit green, so he just rolled his eyes.

"You saying there's something wrong with my memory?" he teased, handing Tony his dinner.

Tony took the sandwich as if it were made of gold and smiled at his boss. "Thanks, Gibbs. For everything. This is all really above and beyond, and I appreciate you going so easy on me."

Gibbs almost choked at the odd sentiment. He couldn't help the thought that verbalized itself without permission. "What did you expect me to do?" he asked, incredulous.

Tony nodded at the cast on his hand. "Be mad at me? I'm going to be on desk duty for weeks because I'm an idiot."

Gibbs took a breath, pulling a bottle of beer from the bag and watching Tony grimace at it. Gibbs opened it and took a long pull before saying, "You were angry, and upset—"

"And an idiot," Tony supplied, cutting him off.

"And hurting, Tony," Gibbs said, his eyes boring into Tony's. "No I'm not happy you punched a wall hard enough to break bones in your hand, but I am glad that you at least got it out. What you do… The way you hide and stuff everything down… It's not healthy."

Gibbs looked a bit uncomfortable and hid it behind the beer bottle.

Tony just raised an eyebrow. "And chugging coffee like it's going out of style is?"

Gibbs set the bottle on the nightstand with a solid _thunk_ and glared. "See? I haven't even said half the things that are going through my head, and you're already deflecting."

Tony blinked and felt a little shiver run through his body. He set aside the half-eaten sandwich and went to stand by the window, his back to his boss. He was feeling more than a little unsettled. He wasn't dumb enough to think Gibbs didn't have him and his act completely figured out, but Gibbs had never actually called him on it.

Gibbs watched Tony roll his shoulders, presumably to ease some sort of tension, and he frowned tightly. "This is a perfect example," he said, exasperation in his voice. "I even _start_ to talk about something serious, and you have to get up and get some physical space between us—even though I know the painkillers are making you dizzy and you're still feeling that hangover."

"I'm—"

"Fine," Gibbs finished with him, taking a deep breath to try to quell the sudden urge to shake some sense into his agent. He reached down deep and found a well of patience he kept around for rainy days. The way he figured it, it was goddamn pouring. "I know, Tony. You're always 'fine'—whether you actually are or not."

Tony sensed the unspoken words hanging over them, but he had no idea what they were. He turned, schooling his face into a mask as blank as freshly fallen snow and lowering his damaged hand to his side even though he wanted to cradle the throbbing limb to his chest.

"So just say it," Tony said, sounding annoyed and fearful despite his best efforts to not sound _anything_.

Gibbs just eyed him, wondering if he should let it go. He knew the well was only so deep, and the last thing he wanted to do was end up losing it and hurting Tony more. Not to mention that Tony had already opened up to him more in the past two days than in all the years they had worked together. Not to mention the man had just lost the father who had badly abused him and had the added burden of wrestling with how to feel about that.

"I just thought you were starting to trust me," Gibbs said, quietly, waiting for the automatic response he knew was coming.

"I do," Tony said just as softly, forcing his eyes to stay on Gibbs' face. "With my life."

Gibbs just sighed. "I know that," he said, rubbing a hand over his face. "But not with anything else."

Tony flinched and turned back to the window, having no idea what to say to that.

"I know you trust me out in the field," Gibbs said. "You know I'll always have your back. But that's the easy part."

Tony still didn't speak. He just stared out into the rain, fighting the urge to go throw up and trying to make himself believe it was the painkillers.

Gibbs took another pull from the bottle and started twisting it in his calloused hands. After a moment, he looked up and said, "And you're doing it again. I mention trust and you immediately dive into work and pay me the biggest compliment one agent can give another. And somehow that's the easy way compared to actually dealing with what you know I meant."

Tony scoffed lightly at the gathering darkness. "You know me, always taking the easy way."

Gibbs' tone was hard when he countered, "No, Tony. I told you. Never when it counts."

Tony turned, his eyes dark in the softly lit hotel room. "Well this is going to knock you on your ass, then. I'm not going to that funeral tomorrow."

Gibbs just nodded. "Good."

Tony's eyes narrowed fractionally, a reaction no one but Gibbs would have even noticed. Then Tony smiled, the expression making a mockery of the emotion it should have represented. "Good," Tony repeated. "You were starting to scare me. If you had been anything other than glad you don't have to hold my hand through a stranger's funeral, I think I might have died myself."

"You think that's why I don't want to go?" Gibbs asked, his tone soft but holding a dangerous edge that Tony vaguely recognized from the interrogation room. Gibbs' mouth tightened and he said softly, "I've sat through worse."

Guilt slapped the smile off Tony's face and he turned back to the window, suddenly fighting tears again. He felt like sitting down and sobbing until the world made sense again. As if it ever had. How unfair was it that Gibbs had lost his entire loving family so soon and Tony's bastard father had gotten to stay around this long just to ignore his only son?

Gibbs knew the moment the words left his mouth that they were the wrong thing to say. He knew without thinking about it that Tony would take full blame for things that were completely out of his control, adding the crushing weight of guilt to already trembling shoulders. Gibbs rose and approached Tony slowly, watching him blink back tears. That simple act of bravery was almost too much for Gibbs. How unfair was it that the man wouldn't cry over his father's death but was close to shedding tears for a family he had never met?

Gibbs' hand found Tony's shoulder, but he didn't make eye contact. "You know why I don't want to go?"

"Nothing to wear?" Tony ventured, needing the paltry attempt at humor because Gibbs' hand was burning through his shirt and searing his skin. He made a mental note to check for damage later.

Realizing Tony was about to bolt, Gibbs dropped his hand and stepped back. He considered again just letting it go. But he was Gibbs, after all. "I don't want to go because your family will be there."

"That makes two of us," Tony snorted.

Gibbs met Tony's eyes in the glass, knowing the real thing would be too much. "I don't want _you_ to go—because they'll be there. And I know you. You'll stand there and let them hurt you because you think you deserve it. That it's the right thing to do. You just lost your father, Tony. The only thing you should be worried about is getting through that, not worrying about how the family will feel about you being at his funeral."

Tony had closed his eyes about halfway through Gibbs' speech—and it was a speech, for Gibbs. Tony could feel the man's eyes on him during the short silence afterward, and it was all suddenly too much.

Gibbs let him bolt for the door, but he tried calling his name.

Tony turned back, his eyes on the floor. "Sorry, Gibbs. But I just lost my father," he said, slamming the door on his way out.

Gibbs rubbed his hands over his face, debating. He knew anyone overhearing their conversation would have heard the sarcasm in Tony's voice and would think he was throwing Gibbs' kindness back in his face. But Gibbs knew him too well to think that. He knew what Tony was doing, and he knew it was his fault for pushing too hard, getting too close—physically and otherwise.

"I know you're going to feel guilty for saying that," he said to the empty room. "I just wish I could get you to believe that you shouldn't."


	9. Chapter 9

Tony stopped cold in the hall, his impeccable hearing picking up Gibbs' words.

He turned, slowly, wondering if he had heard correctly but knowing he had. He slumped against the wall and started a slow slide to the floor when he really wanted to run as far away as his breath would take him. _He knows me too well. I can't handle that. I need to get out of here. I need… I want…_

"Hey."

Tony looked up at the soft word, at the sadness in Gibbs' eyes. He wondered how that worked. What sort of human version of the transitive property allowed Gibbs to feel his pain? _And more importantly, why?_

"Come back inside," Gibbs said, holding out a hand.

Tony almost laughed. Anyone else would have talked themselves blue in the face apologizing or asking if he was okay or what he wanted.

Gibbs just gave an order—even if it was a gentle one this time.

Tony let his boss haul him to his feet, and he followed Gibbs back into the room, oddly feeling like something had been righted in his world. He went and sat with his back against the headboard, drawing his knees up and letting the cast rest there. He took the beer Gibbs offered with a slight grimace and a wary "thanks."

Gibbs just smiled, got one for himself, and settled into a chair by the window. He chose the position as strategically as orchestrating a tactical maneuver, giving Tony space but still facing him to keep him from getting lost in his own head.

Tony sipped slowly, his head still aching from the previous night's libations. "Not to question your authority or anything, Boss, but do you think this is really a good idea?" For some reason, he'd had the song "99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall" in his head all day, but he didn't probe the memory too hard in fear of finding out why.

Gibbs smiled. "Only bought a six-pack," he said. "And you're no lightweight."

"Mmmm," Tony murmured, nodding and willing himself not to start picking at the label on the bottle with his swollen fingers. "I should really lay off the doughnuts," he said, letting the coolness of the glass soothe the self-inflicted damage.

Gibbs rolled his eyes, watching Tony use the bottle as an icepack and wondering if he was in pain, if he had lied about taking the painkillers—it was Tony, after all. He knew better than to ask or accuse, though, so he asked instead, "McGee giving you a complex?"

Tony bit down on a smile, feeling guilty that life went on, no matter who died. _Unless it was you. _The guilt turned to apprehension as he realized he was going to have to tell the rest of the team his father was dead. Remembering McGee's obvious glee at getting to meet the man, Tony shuddered a little, dreading that conversation and feeling weary about having to deal with the various reactions he couldn't anticipate because it was truly uncharted territory. There was a reason he didn't let people in. It just made times like these that much harder.

He pushed the thoughts aside and asked, "You ever get the urge to shove a cheeseburger down his throat?"

Gibbs grinned. "Yeah. Mostly when he's going on about some firewall doo-dad or whatever."

Tony laughed, taking comfort in the fact that some things never changed.

The silence stretched, and Tony suddenly realized he had peeled the label halfway off his bottle despite the clumsiness of his injured hand. He looked up to find Gibbs watching him with his usual intensity. "Well, this is kind of awkward," he said, glancing at the clock and seeing that it was only eight in the evening. "Since I'm not going to the funeral, we could leave?"

Gibbs heard the question in that and nodded slowly. "I'd be fine with driving back tonight," he answered. "But you're probably tired and could use some sleep first."

Tony frowned, wondering why Gibbs wasn't jumping at the chance to put an end to the hellish weekend, and he realized that Gibbs had a double purpose in letting him sleep most of the day.

"You're giving me time to change my mind," Tony guessed correctly, watching Gibbs' slight smile but missing the pride in his boss's eyes. Tony just looked away. "I thought you didn't want me to go."

"Already told you, Tony," Gibbs said with what passed for patience with him, "not about what I want."

Tony didn't respond. He just finished the beer and set the bottle aside.

"Or what anyone else wants," Gibbs continued. "You do what feels right for you."

Tony flinched and stared at his hands. He looked up after a moment and asked quietly, "What if I don't know what that is?"

Gibbs regarded him with sad eyes before giving his head a little shake and asking, "Is that really true?"

Tony smiled again, the sadness in it mirroring the emotion in Gibbs' eyes. He tried not to think about that again because it was just too much for his already quivering psyche. "I don't want to go," he said, watching the relief flick across Gibbs' face and now knowing it had nothing to do with sitting through a stranger's funeral. That knowledge made his voice stronger when he said, "I'm _not_ going."

Gibbs simply nodded. "Leave tonight or tomorrow then?"

Tony debated even though he wanted to get up and make a run for the car. It was mostly the darkness under his boss's eyes and knowing that the man hadn't gotten much sleep the previous night—because of him. "Morning?" Tony said. "_Early_ morning," he added quickly, not wanting Gibbs to misunderstand him.

Gibbs nodded again, getting up to hand Tony another beer and the television remote. Tony flipped channels with disinterest, his mind a thousand miles away—actually, more like 5,000 miles away.

"Can I ask you something?"

Tony started a little at Gibbs' voice and he realized he'd stopped on an infomercial. He wondered how long he had been spacing out as he turned and saw Gibbs watching him intently again.

Tony raised a wary eyebrow. "Since you're asking first, can I say no?"

The corner of Gibbs' mouth quirked up in a wry little smile. "If you want."

The simple statement—but more the idea that what he wanted mattered—gave Tony a little chill, but he shrugged it off. "Sure, what?"

"Did he really leave you in hotel room in Hawaii?"

Tony would have given Gibbs credit for not hesitating—had he not been shocked by the fact that his boss had apparently read his mind. It made him wonder if he had spoken some of his thoughts out loud. Just the idea of that made him shiver again, and of course Gibbs saw it. Gibbs almost asked if he was cold.

"Yep."

Gibbs just let the confirmation hang there for a moment, wondering if he had asked to get Tony talking or if he had just selfishly given in to his own legendary curiosity. Once again, he couldn't read Tony's face to see if he had minded the question so he decided to let it go at that. He tried to think of something relevant to follow up with, and he realized that this was harder than any interrogation he had ever conducted. At least then, he hadn't cared about what his subjects _felt_ in response to his questions—except to use it against them.

"Never been to Hawaii," Gibbs said, kicking himself for the lame comment.

"It's nice," Tony said, a thousand thoughts flying around in his head. He shook it as if to clear it, not sure he wanted to give any of them a voice. "Pretty. And the hotel was nice. It's not like he left me in some third-world hellhole."

Gibbs just nodded, wondering why Tony was defending a dead man who had never tried to protect his own son—just the opposite, in fact.

Tony took a deep breath and shook his head again. "And there I go defending him," he said, looking up at Gibbs as if for help. "Why do I do that?"

Gibbs was saved trying to answer that as Tony continued, his voice low, his expression mostly confused. "Probably for the same reason I found myself caving to him and letting him control me when he came to visit. I knew what he was doing, and I let him do it even though I hated myself for it. And then he did that thing he does with his hand, making me stay like I'm one of his damned dogs, and I wanted to break his fingers."

Gibbs felt a little rush of shame at that. He had known that Tony was unsettled by his father's visit, but he had never even picked up on the anger he must have felt. He wondered if that was the first time Tony had seen the man since losing consciousness on the music room floor beside a ruined piano. He didn't ask. He just marveled at his agent's skill even while lamenting it at the same time.

"And as I stood there, telling him things I shouldn't have, I realized I should just toss myself off the case right then and there."

Tony stopped abruptly, looking up at Gibbs as if realizing who he was talking to. Tony frowned, cocking his head a little as he tried to read Gibbs' eyes. "Why didn't you?" Tony asked. "Bench me?"

Gibbs hid his wince, but he found his gaze slipping to his hands before coming back up to meet his agent's perplexed gaze. "You're my best agent," Gibbs said, knowing it was only part of the truth and hoping Tony wouldn't push it.

The green eyes watching him turned thoughtful before hardening again. "That's a really good answer, Gibbs," he said, frowning. "And thank you. But you didn't particularly need me for that case."

Gibbs took a breath, looking away again. "Selfish curiosity," he admitted, hoping Tony wouldn't think less of him for it.

Tony just blinked in surprise. He thought for a moment before asking, "What's that mean?"

Gibbs took a long moment to answer, as if he needed the time to gather enough words. "I don't know anything about you," he finally said, holding up a hand to stop Tony from interrupting. "Every time you talk about your childhood, I get the feeling you're either lying or not telling the whole truth. I don't blame you. Knowing what I now know. But at the time, I just kept thinking how strange it was to have known you for so many years without actual knowing you."

Tony's gaze was blank again, and Gibbs suddenly wished he'd bought more beer. He wasn't kidding when he said Tony was no lightweight. Of all the responses Gibbs had been imagining, the one he got shocked and humbled him—and pained him.

"You know me better than anyone," Tony said softly.

Gibbs thought for a moment, knowing the gift that had been laid at his feet and not wanting to stumble over it and crush it. "In some ways, yeah," Gibbs said slowly. "You know I'm more about actions than words so I feel like I know who you are now—despite your best efforts to distract me, to distract everyone. I guess I just thought that with him around, maybe I'd get to see who you were then."

They simply stared at each other, the awkwardness like a third being in the room with them.

Gibbs looked away first—a first in itself, probably. "It sounds so… wrong when I say it now."

Tony simply shook his head. "There was a reason McGee was so excited to meet him. I just didn't get it then."

Tony watched Gibbs debating silently and just gave him a look.

"I could say something to them," Gibbs offered slowly. "If you want."

Tony shook his head. "No, don't," he said, chewing on his lip. "Thanks, but I'll tell them. Maybe it'll put some kind of cap on this whole mess."

Gibbs studied him through slightly narrowed eyes, trying to figure out what that meant. Finally, he just asked, "What are you thinking?"

Tony blinked, surprised by the direct question. "Something you said a while back. About closure. What does that even mean anyway? At some point, does this all make sense?"

"I wish I could tell you it will," Gibbs said softly.

The blood drained from Tony's face and he felt like burying his face in his knees and hiding. "Shit, Gibbs," he said, shaking his head and kicking himself hard for his stupidity, for being so insensitive. "I'm so sorry."

But Gibbs just watched him with concern. "What for?"

"This is twice that I've…" He waved a hand, not sure how to verbalize it.

Fortunately, he didn't need to. Gibbs just shook his head. "No, you didn't," he said, lifting a shoulder. "I did."

He let that hang there for a moment, gave Tony time to absorb it.

"And a funeral doesn't make it all better," Gibbs said. "I'd be pushing you harder to go if it did."

"I still don't want to go."

"Then don't," Gibbs said, making it sound so simple.

And making Tony realize that it was simple—and his decision.

"Thanks, Gibbs," he said. "For everything."

Gibbs just nodded. "Get some sleep, Tony. I can't tell you it will be all better in the morning. But it might be a little better. Gets a little better every day."

Tony snorted lightly. "Couldn't possibly be worse than this morning," he said, his hand on his belly. "I'm never drinking again."

Gibbs flicked a glance at the empty bottle on the table and smiled.

Tony grinned back. "Well, damn."

Gibbs just rolled his eyes and handed him the last bottle. "There's always tomorrow."


	10. Chapter 10

Had Tony been awake, he probably would have recognized the sandy stretch of pristine white beach from the time-share infomercial he'd stalled at earlier in the evening.

But he wasn't awake. Not really, anyway.

He lay in that strange hotel room, floating in some sort of quasi-dream-memory.

He'd be lucky if he didn't drown in the remembered water.

_Young Tony walked along the beach, watching the sun setting over the ocean and marveling at the colors and the beauty of it. He suddenly thought of his mother, trying to remember her face as it had been before the cancer chased away her ethereal beauty. _

_"Mom," he whispered to no one, realizing it had been well over a year since he had spoken that word out loud. _

_He closed his eyes against the stinging of tears and dropped onto the smooth, soft sand, his arms crossed over skinny knees as he curled into a sitting ball. He opened his eyes and saw the sun slip below the horizon, and it made him think about his mother's pretty eyes—the one part of her untouched by the wasting disease—closing for the last time in that horrible hospital room. _

_A chill ran through his body and he closed his eyes again, trying to pull up a different memory. The loss of warmth made him think of a winter scene a few months before his mom's devastating diagnosis. He smiled softly, remembering her lying next to him in a field of white near their New York home. _

_He lay back on the still-warm sand and turned his head to the side, imagining her as she had been that day, all rosy-cheeked and green eyes sparkling as they made snow angels together, the flakes falling softly on them both and sticking to their eyelashes._

_He began moving slowly, his arms and legs pushing away the snow-white sand, and he imagined her beside him—here on this beach in this moment. His little-boy mind created a whole conversation with her, and he happily told her about his last day of the school year. They had had a field day, and Tony told his memory-mother about how he'd been the fastest boy in his class. He told her about the ribbon he'd won and how his teacher had hugged him at the finish line and told him what a good job he had done. _

_He decided not to tell her about how his father had dropped the ribbon into the garbage and told him he needed to concentrate more on his studies and less on silly races that didn't matter. _

_"Do you think he's dead?"_

_"Nah, he's crying."_

_Tony's eyes flew open and he found himself staring up at two boys, both bigger and older than him—well, he figured they were bigger, but it could have been that he was still flat on his back and they were standing near his head, towering over him. _

_But they were definitely older. _

_"Hey, cry-baby."_

_"Whatcha doin' out here?"_

_He shivered where he lay, but not from the chill. _

_Well, maybe from the iciness in their words, their eyes. _

_He realized it was almost dark, and he wondered how long he had been lying happily in the pseudo-snow with his memory-mom. The bigger of the two put his bare foot on Tony's outstretched arm, his heel digging into the sensitive flesh at his inner elbow, and Tony started to shake. _

_He suddenly wanted his father, if only because he was bigger than these bigger-than-him boys. _

_"What's the matter, cry-baby? Cat got your tongue?"_

_"Maybe he is dead."_

_He stared up at them, unblinking, feeling the tears he hadn't realized he had been crying still coursing down his temples to disappear into his dark hair. He wished he could disappear, too. One boy moved to his left, and another bare foot planted on his free arm, still outstretched in the broken wing of his half-finished angel. His eyes started flicking back and forth between his tormentors until he felt dizzy. His heart was racing just like that day on the track at school. _

_"Well if he's dead…"_

_"Maybe we should toss his body into the ocean. Feed the fishes."_

_The boys reached down at the same time, each grabbing Tony roughly by an arm. He cried out in panic and started fighting them, wondering why it had taken him so long to think of running. He writhed in their strong grip, twisting and pulling and yanking even though he felt their skinny fingers digging into his wrist and elbow with bruising force. _

_He was no match for the two of them, though, and they dragged him down the beach toward the water, their playful laughs and faked fun keeping the scattered beachgoers from looking harder at the three boys' rough-housing. _

_He felt the sand change beneath feet barely touching the ground, and the second he felt warm water on his toes, he fought his panic and let his body go limp, catching the boys by surprise. He slipped free from their cruel, pinching grasp and took off down the beach, his heart hammering as his breath sawed in and out of fear-constricted lungs. _

_He heard them chasing him, but they soon gave up, calling friendly-sounding taunts after him. _

_"Hey, that was fun!"_

_"We'll do it again!"_

_"See you tomorrow!"_

_He didn't care, though, he thought as he ran swiftly through the darkness. _

_He _was_ the fastest boy in his class. _

* * *

_He was still breathing hard when he reached the relative safety of the hotel lobby, and he didn't even notice the strange looks the concierge gave him as he made his sandy-sweaty way to the elevator. The shaking that had subsided upon entering the building returned as the car took him higher and higher to the top of the hotel._

_His father was going to be mad. _

_Not only was it late and dark and he had no idea how long he had been gone, but he cringed as he realized he had left his sandals lying on the beach next to his sand-angel. He thought about telling his father about the boys, but he discarded the thought immediately. _

_He didn't want to get yelled at for allowing himself to be bullied. He was a DiNozzo. And DiNozzos didn't get pushed around. _

_His fingers ghosted over his cheekbone, where his father had hit him that day after the scene by the hospital fountain, but he shook his head, clearing away the memory. His father had just been upset because his wife was dying. And Tony should have kept his mouth shut—kids didn't get to make important decisions like where someone got to die._

_He slipped into the huge suite and made a beeline for his room, not wanting his father to see the red marks on his wrist and arm or his bare feet. He got cleaned up quickly, wondering if his father had eaten dinner without him as his stomach grumbled loudly. He dressed in a long-sleeved shirt despite the heat, thinking he could claim to be cold in the air-conditioned room—because he was cold, and he suddenly realized he was sunburned because he'd forgotten to take sunscreen with him upon leaving that morning._

_He made his way out into the sitting area of the suite and looked around, wondering where his father was. He climbed up onto one of the big, comfy couches and curled up, feeling suddenly exhausted from his day in the sun. He willed himself to stay awake, pulling up his sleeve to poke at his sore wrist. The redness had turned to purplish bruising and he winced—not from the pain but from the realization that his father would see it when they went to the beach together the next day as he'd promised. _

_Not wanting to fall asleep and miss saying goodnight to his father, he got up and wandered around the rooms, knowing instinctively before he'd checked them all that the man wasn't there—but still he made the rounds, hoping. He stopped in front of the large bank of windows that looked out over the ocean, catching sight of his burned face in the reflective glass. He turned away, biting his lip and searching again for a note that he knew he wouldn't find. _

_He stood in the middle of the empty suite and stared at the floor for a long time before going to curl up on the couch again to wait. _He's probably still at his business meeting_, he thought, letting his eyes close—just for a minute. _

_He fell asleep to the rumbling of his stomach._

* * *

_The boy came awake early the next morning, shaking violently from a combination of sunburn, too-cold air conditioning and no blanket. He groaned softly and stumbled off to bed, barely glancing at his father's closed bedroom door. He burrowed under the thick blankets, his shaking slowly fading as he drifted off to sleep again. _

_He awoke later from dreams of his mother rubbing soothing lotion on skin burned by a Cape Cod summer sun, and he rubbed his eyes groggily, trying to remember where he was. He climbed out of the big bed and was surprised to find the sitting area empty again. He had expected his father to be there with coffee and the morning paper—and maybe room-service breakfast, he thought, his stomach growling more insistently._

_He went and knocked on the bedroom door, calling out a tentative "Sir?" and feeling dismayed at the lack of a response. He pushed open the door and found the room empty, the bed neatly made. He shivered again at that curious fact and felt something twist in his gut as he went back out to search for a note. Finding none, he gathered his courage and went back into his father's room, stopping in front of the closed closet doors. Fear clenched fists around his heart as he stared at the doors, suddenly reminded of the night he had snuck into the housekeeper's room and hid while she watched a movie about zombies. _

_He stared at the door as if expecting the flesh-eating monsters to come staggering out at any moment to feast on his brain. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and found the closet empty, confirming his fears that had nothing to do with the movie. _

_His father was gone._

* * *

_Tony sat on the couch and stared at the black screen of the television. He had no idea what to do. He thought about calling his house in New York, but he didn't want the staff to tell his father that he'd bothered them unnecessarily. He thought about calling the front desk to see if his father had left a message for him, but he didn't want to let them know he was here alone if he hadn't. _

_So he just sat there, wondering and listening to his stomach rumbling. _

_He finally shrugged, picked up the phone and called room service. He picked up the remote and ordered a movie, shrugging again. He realized it would be no different from the times he was left alone at home while his father went away on business. He was used to being alone. And this time, he wouldn't even have to tiptoe around the staff. _

_He went out onto the balcony while he waited and he pushed his sleeves up to his elbows as he stood in the warm summer sun. His eyes caught his bruised wrist, and he smiled and shrugged again. At least if he stayed in the room, he'd be safe from those boys and their cruel taunts. His gaze drifted downward and he saw a couple with two children making a giant castle in the sand. His smile slipped as pain ripped through him at the sight, but he forced it back onto his face and blinked away the tears that welled as he realized he wouldn't be spending the day on the beach with his father. _

_He shrugged again. He would spend the night ordering whatever he wanted and watching as many movies as he could fit into the hours. He didn't mind being alone. _

_And it wasn't like his father was gone forever._


	11. Chapter 11

Gibbs awoke the following morning, surprised to find Tony awake and dressed and staring out the window. Gibbs almost sighed as he took in the black suit and determined set of the man's shoulders. _Don't do this, Tony_, he thought, getting up wordlessly and entering the small bathroom. _Don't go. You're not going to find what you need there. _

Gibbs returned to find Tony had not moved and he stared at his agent's back for a moment, realizing Tony had slit the sleeve of the expensive suit to allow for the cast on his left hand. Gibbs knew the significance of the action, and he suddenly wished he hadn't always been so insistent about not showing weakness. Sometimes he forgot just how deeply Tony took the things he said to heart.

Looking at the slit sleeve, Gibbs noticed he'd cut the material straight up the seam. An experienced tailor would easily make a repair, leaving no trace of the damage. Gibbs found himself wishing there was an equivalent for his friend's tattered soul—and then wondering if that was really for the best.

Tony turned, and Gibbs forced himself not to wince at the pain in his eyes. He saw Tony evaluate his own dark clothing with an odd expression that bordered on guilt, but neither man spoke as they left the room for the last time.

Gibbs drove while Tony gave him directions in a monotone, his voice barely above a whisper that Gibbs had to strain to hear. He heard Tony's breathing hitch and a glance to his right revealed a pale-faced Tony who looked like he was going to be sick.

"Pull over here, would you?" Tony asked raggedly, pointing to the wooded shoulder of the deserted road and making Gibbs realize how far they had driven.

Gibbs complied, watching Tony get out of the car unsteadily. He wasn't surprised when his passenger walked to the treeline, and Gibbs stayed put to give him some privacy. But he was surprised when Tony didn't stop and walked into the woods purposefully. Gibbs got out of the car and jogged lightly after his agent, deciding not to call his name.

Gibbs followed as Tony walked through the woods, not sure if his agent even knew he was there. They picked their way through the trees, Gibbs wincing every time a branch snagged the expensive material of Tony's dark suit.

They finally came to a small pond in a clearing bordered on one side with trees, softly rolling field on the other, and Gibbs approached his silent friend, watching him stare at the water, his eyes similar in color but nowhere near as calm as the gently rippling surface. Gibbs didn't speak as he stopped and stood off to Tony's right. He simply watched him watch the water and wondered what he was thinking—and what the significance of this place was.

As if in answer to his thoughts, the first thing Tony said after a long while was, "This was her favorite place."

Gibbs realized with a start that they were on the property of Tony's old home and suddenly the circuitous route through the woods made sense. Tony had no idea if his family still owned the place.

Gibbs didn't know what to say—or if he should even say anything. He desperately wanted to ask if Tony wanted to be alone, but he didn't, figuring he would say yes either way and not wanting to leave him if he didn't actually want the solitude.

"Her ashes are scattered here," Tony said, his eyes still on the water but not entirely in the present. "It was a huge fight between the families because hers wanted her buried in the family plot. But we knew what she wanted. And that was to be here. I think it was for me. She knew I loved spending time with her out here, and she always thought cemeteries were depressing. I think she wanted me to be able to remember her as she was when we were here. We made snow angels in that field over there, right before she got sick."

Gibbs watched Tony's hands start to shake, watched him draw a deep breath. He wanted to touch him, but he knew it was a bad idea—that he would shut down immediately at even the barest of contact. Gibbs didn't dare speak for fear of breaking the spell.

"It was really the most kind thing he ever did for her, fighting her family like that and making sure her wishes were followed. Really the most kind thing he ever did for me, too, but I don't know if he knew why she wanted what she wanted. But he could never say no to her."

Tony wrapped his arms around himself, his head down and his eyes closed as he fought the emotions threatening to tear him apart. Gibbs just listened and watched, feeling more helpless than he had in a long time.

"He was stone-faced through the entire little ceremony. He didn't cry, didn't speak a word to anyone. One of her sisters held me the whole time, and I barely saw any of it because I had my face buried in her neck. I didn't want to see the ashes, didn't want to think of her reduced to nothing like that. I think I was still having a hard time wrapping my head around the idea that she was never coming back. My aunt smelled like roses. Just like my mother. That's really all I remember. That and his face, because I was sitting in her lap, facing him. He didn't look at me once. Not until it was over and she tried to hand me over to him. I was a tiny little kid back then, but he put me down immediately without a word. He just stood here, staring at the pond, while I wrapped my fists in his jacket, clinging to him for dear life."

Gibbs noted that Tony's right hand was clutching a fistful of his own black suit jacket, his knuckles white with the strain. Tony's mouth twisted into an expression somewhere between a humorless smile and a grimace.

"I remember him reaching down and prying my fingers off him, smoothing the wrinkles from the material and pushing me away. I just stood there—here. Forever it seemed. People came up to us, but he didn't speak to them. They tried to pull me away, but I wanted to stay with him. Every time I reached out to touch him, he just batted my hand away. And one by one they left us there—here. I don't remember giving in and sitting on the cold ground, but I remember him coming back to life and looking down at me with disgust, asking me what my mother would think about me ruining my new suit."

Gibbs flinched, lifting his hand and letting it hang in the air before letting it drop again. He just waited for Tony to continue, selfishly hoping he wouldn't have to stand there and listen to another emotionless description of abuse. He wasn't sure he could handle that.

"I didn't say anything—there wasn't really anything to say to that. I just sat as still as I could, thinking about that night after he made me leave the hospital and hoping he wouldn't hit me again. But I think that would have taken too much effort," Tony said, his voice shaking as hard as his hands as he stared at the pond. His anguished gaze lifted and settled on the field, vibrantly green in the morning sun. But all he saw was freshly fallen snow. "He walked away, that way, toward the house. I followed him because I couldn't think of anything else to do, but about halfway across the field, he held up his hand to me and told me to stay away from him. I'll never forget the sound of his voice when he said that. It was December, but the temperature was practically tropical compared to the coldness in those words."

Gibbs' hand twitched again at his side, but he let it hang there. Rage warred with grief at Tony's sad monotone, and he found himself wishing Tony would share the anger Gibbs felt at the callousness of a father turning his back on a hurting child. _You didn't deserve that, Tony. _He was about to give that thought a voice when Tony continued, an odd little smile on an otherwise tortured face.

"They found me making snow angels in the field around dusk, still wearing my muddy little suit. I couldn't feel the cold anymore, and that freaked them out—which freaked me out, too, because I had two grieving Italian women suddenly worried I was going to die or something."

A soft, shaky laugh escaped his lips at the memory, and Gibbs smiled back at him until he realized that Tony had done it again—taken a horrible, painful memory and twisted it into something amusing.

Tony suddenly turned to Gibbs and stared at him for a moment, as if remembering he wasn't alone. He took a breath, shrugged and said, "But I'm not dead, and they both are, so can we go home now?"

Gibbs blinked at the abruptness of the shift in his mood. He sounded like typical bored-Tony who had solved the case and was ready to move on.

Gibbs didn't buy it for a second.

But he also wasn't about to challenge it, either, so he just nodded. "Ready whenever you are."

Tony glanced back at the pond before turning toward the woods.

He whispered, "I'm already gone."


	12. Chapter 12

They were back in the car, heading down Interstate 95 toward the District. Gibbs pulled in at the first rest stop they came to, knowing instinctively that Tony would want to lose the suit as soon as possible. Gibbs stopped the car and found Tony looking at him with an odd expression.

He was mostly just wondering how his boss kept reading his mind.

Gibbs was about to say something when Tony whispered a soft "thanks" and grabbed his bag from the back seat of the bright yellow car. He watched Tony's back as he walked slowly through the lightly falling rain, and Gibbs wondered if he even noticed he was getting wet. He leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes, thinking about all Tony had said during the trip. He realized the revelations of abuse and neglect hadn't really surprised him all that much, and that made him angry with himself.

He had always known Tony was damaged, but the younger man was so good at hiding it that Gibbs often forgot that there were deep scars lurking beneath the shiny, happy surface. And so he rarely felt guilty when he found himself tossing out hurtful words or holding back deserved praise—because he knew why he did it. He knew he had gotten closer to his senior field agent than he should have, than he had ever planned to, but Tony had a way about him of being so likeable that he felt close even across a room, even after you'd just barely opened the door for him. It was a skill that served him well undercover—but made him a danger to someone as closed off as Gibbs desperately needed to be.

Gibbs still marveled at the times when he realized how much Tony meant to him despite his best efforts to keep the irrepressible man at arm's length. He didn't know exactly when it had happened, but Gibbs knew he sometimes resented Tony for sneaking his charming way into a heart Gibbs thought he'd boarded up years ago.

And the headslaps were a pretty good representation of all of that: an outwardly harsh manifestation of deeply complicated feelings that often came off lighthearted and affectionate.

Gibbs found himself thinking of a moment between them about a year ago when Tony had been going on about some volcano movie or some such, rambling to the point of excess, and Gibbs had reached over and headslapped him. Tony had mentioned the lack of physical contact in his life, and Gibbs had picked up on the deeper meaning in his words and offered up some useless advice: "Snap out of it."

_Great job,_ Gibbs thought, staring blankly at the steering wheel. _No one touches him for months and the first thing you do is smack him in the head. _

That thought made Gibbs sit up straighter just as Tony slipped into the car beside him.

"Thanks for stopping, Boss," Tony said, reaching for the seat belt. "I feel a thousand times better, and… What?"

Gibbs saw Tony eyeing him suspiciously, and he knew his dismay was showing on his face—and in the bouncing of his leg as his thoughts swirled guiltily.

"Maybe you should lay off the coffee some, Gibbs," Tony said, looking a bit dismayed himself. His earlier levity, forced as it was, was completely gone as he watched his boss look at him with an unfamiliar expression.

"Haven't had any," Gibbs said slowly.

Tony grinned, looking relieved. "Oh, well, then maybe we need to get you some coffee," he said, running a hand through damp hair and wondering how he'd gotten so soaked. "You were scaring me there for a minute."

Gibbs nodded blankly and turned back to the wheel. He felt Tony go tense beside him as soon as he opened his mouth. "Does it bother you?"

Tony knew he wasn't talking about coffee so he just kept his mouth shut and waited anxiously, trying not to fidget.

"When I hit you?" Gibbs said softly, turning to face his passenger.

Tony smiled again even though he felt a little seasick from the rollercoaster emotions. "Not at all," he said, waiting for Gibbs to start the car and stop acting like a stranger. He finally recognized the expression as guilt and realized he'd never seen Gibbs look guilty before. Gibbs didn't say anything or make a move to turn the key so Tony said, "A tap on the back of the head is not a punch in the face, Gibbs. Don't worry about it. It's not the same thing."

Gibbs nodded and started the car, pulling back onto the highway without a word. He sensed the return of Tony's restlessness and cursed himself for even bringing up that subject. He thought about apologizing but stopped himself, knowing that would unsettle Tony even more.

So he just drove, glancing sideways every now and then, and noticing that Tony's eyes were practically glued to the clock on the dash. Gibbs realized the funeral would be ending soon so he wasn't surprised when Tony rubbed a hand over his face and opened his mouth to speak but snapped it shut so fast Gibbs heard the click of his teeth.

"You okay?" Gibbs asked, letting his gaze linger on Tony's broken hand even though they both knew that wasn't what he was asking about.

Tony closed his eyes and shook his head. "I really don't want to tell you what I'm thinking."

Gibbs raised an eyebrow. "Then don't."

Tony sighed. "I'm sorry," he said with a wince. "It's not that… I wouldn't mind telling you but… I mean I appreciate… Goddamn."

A slight smile touched Gibbs' lips at his usually confident, articulate agent's floundering. "McGee? When'd you get here?"

Tony huffed a little laugh, but he said, "Nah, that's not right. Probie may have been a green, stuttering kid when we first got him, but he's all grown up now. Says exactly what he's thinking now."

"Wonder how that happened," Gibbs commented, making Tony blush bright red and smile at the indirect praise.

"I was thinking," Tony started, deciding to just get it out. Gibbs had been amazingly supportive of him so far, and Tony doubted he'd start judging him now. "Was something really shitty, and I can't believe I'm admitting this, but I was glad it's raining. And not for some stupid movie cliché reason about the sky weeping or some crap like that, but because it would piss him off—that it would dare rain during his funeral."

Gibbs didn't respond immediately, and Tony said, "That sounded even more horrible out loud. I really need to learn to keep my big mouth shut and stop broadcasting what a shitty person I am."

"Tony," Gibbs said, his tone more appropriate for the squad room than a small car. "Knock that off. He hurt you—with his words, his actions, emotionally, _physically_. Any man who turns his back on a grieving child, any man who takes a baseball bat to a twelve-year-old kid—to his own son, for Christ's sake—deserves to rot in hell. You didn't deserve what he did to you, and he didn't deserve to have you for a son. You bailed him out when he came crawling back to you after all these years when you could have called him out and told him to shove it. But you didn't. I might not understand the why, but I do know the how—because you're a good person, Tony. So don't beat yourself up for even a second because you hate him."

The speech seemed to have taken as much out of Tony as it did Gibbs, and they rode in silence for several long miles.

When Tony finally spoke, his tone was laced with so much pain that Gibbs almost flinched.

"But what if I don't hate him?"

Gibbs breathed deeply for a moment, biting down on his shocked protest at that. He couldn't imagine how Tony didn't hate the man because while Gibbs hadn't been there, he _could_ imagine a young Tony waking up alone in a hospital bed, his bones as broken as his ability to trust. Gibbs knew the wrist Tony had been unconsciously rubbing in the hotel that night—and god knows what else—had healed, but Tony's capacity for trusting those around him was still badly fractured.

A thought suddenly occurred to Gibbs and he asked softly, his eyes never leaving the wet road, "Was he ever good to you?"

Tony flinched, turning his eyes to the window. "Yeah," he said, his voice small and faraway. "Before she died. I mean, he was never very affectionate and mostly only paid attention to me when I got in trouble, but he talked to me, even let me hang around them sometimes. I always felt like he just tolerated me because she loved me so much. It was like he was allergic to dogs but just couldn't deny her the puppy she wanted so badly. He loved her enough to not show how much he _dis_liked me, I guess. And not to mention she was just as scary—sometimes even more so—than him when she was drinking. I wasn't lying when I said she drank my sea monkeys once."

Gibbs was reeling, trying to decide what part of that wreckage of a childhood he should try to tackle first. He decided to focus on the worst of it, wondering if his words would even penetrate the walls he saw Tony hastily erecting as he realized how much he had just revealed.

"So he was 'good' to you before she died," Gibbs said, wincing when he realized he'd used a tone that should have stayed in the interrogation room.

And Tony misread his sarcasm. He blushed again, turning his face away to stare out into the rain. "I didn't mean to sound ungrateful," he said automatically, giving Gibbs the distinct feeling it was something he had been called a lot in life. "He gave me anything I ever wanted, and—"

"No, Tony, he didn't," Gibbs cut him off. He forced his tone calmer. "He may have provided for you, but I doubt he ever gave you anything you really wanted."

Tony just stared out the window, stone-faced but inwardly terrified of Gibbs all of a sudden. The conversation had quickly become too much for him so he decided to just shut down since a one-sided conversation couldn't last very long—especially with Gibbs as its sole participant.

But he was wrong.

"Listen to me," Gibbs said, still watching the rain-soaked road because he knew Tony wasn't looking at him—and because killing them both would seriously defeat the purpose of what he was about to say. "You might have had anything money could buy in that big house, and it might have made things easier for you in some ways. And I might have been jealous of my classmates' new shoes every year, but I never wanted for the things that were important. Our own fathers aside, I'll tell you this with the conviction _of_ a father, Tony. If I'd had to give up Kelly to a foster home, for whatever reason, I'd have picked one like mine over one like yours every time. Because even knowing that she might have to wear ratty sneakers for a year too long, at least I would know that she would have real love. All the shiny new bikes in the world aren't worth crap if there's no one there to scoop you up and kiss scraped knees when you fall off."

The raindrops on the window were wet mirrors of the tears in Tony's eyes, but he shut them tightly, willing the moisture away with such ferocity it was a wonder the glass didn't clear as well. He didn't speak. He wasn't sure he could for all the thoughts swirling through his head. He banished thoughts of Gibbs tending to his daughter's bloody knees not just because of the pain that accompanied those visions, but because he didn't have the right to be envisioning that anyway.

"You said he was good to you before your mother died," Gibbs said gently, with no hint of sarcasm. "But you also said he tolerated you for her sake. That might be the best you ever got from him, but that's not being good to someone. And either way, it's no real feat to do the right thing when it's easy, when times are good. But it is damned hard to do the right thing when times are tough. She died, and instead of being there for you, he shut you out. That's unforgivable, Tony, and irresponsible—"

"We see where I get that from, then," Tony said bitterly, completely missing the humorous tone he was trying so hard to produce.

"No, Tony, you're not," Gibbs said firmly, ignoring the incredulous look even as a slight smile crept over his own face. "Yeah, you might drive me up the wall with your endless chatter and movie references and pranks on your teammates, but when things go to hell, there's no one else I'd rather have watching my back." He continued, not letting that sink in because he was just as uncomfortable with the raw emotion as he knew Tony would be. "Like I said, it's easy when things are easy. You always step up when things get tough."

Uncomfortable as Gibbs had predicted, Tony said softly, "When the going gets tough, the tough go clubbing."

"Perfect example," Gibbs said, smiling. "I wasn't surprised in the least when Abby told me you were the one who pulled McGee out of his funk after he shot that cop."

Tony shrugged. "He just needed a little reassurance."

"And you saw that and gave it to him," Gibbs said, having gone quiet again. "That's something I can't even do."

Tony smiled suddenly, meeting Gibbs' eyes for a moment. "Sure you do," he said. "You just have a different method of delivery."

Gibbs reached over and tapped him on the back of the head. "Don't know what you're talking about, DiNozzo."

Tony smiled crookedly, looking hesitant again.

"Spit it out," Gibbs said, seeing the look.

"I just..." Tony started, trailing off. He smiled sheepishly. "I don't think I've ever heard you speak so many words all at once."

Gibbs just shook his head and cast him a sidelong glance. "You've just never shut up long enough for me to do it."


	13. Chapter 13

Gibbs more than made up for his uncharacteristic loquaciousness on the remainder of the drive, but he didn't think Tony would mind—he had been out cold since Jersey. Gibbs chalked it up to exhaustion, painkillers and being emotionally wrung out like a dish rag.

He frowned tightly, flicking a glance at the cast on Tony's hand. Professionally, he was annoyed. Personally, he was furious.

But not at Tony himself. Mostly, Gibbs was pissed that the man had had to grow up in a house where showing emotion was considered wrong, punished even.

It called up a memory from early in their working relationship when Tony had spent hours cleaning and inventorying the truck only to find it trashed by some careless agent the next day. Gibbs had found Tony in the gym later that night, pounding the piss out of a punching bag, his hands dangerously unprotected. Gibbs had pried the reason for his anger out of the young man and asked why he didn't just go ream the offending agent.

_"What?" Tony had asked, blinking in confusion and eyeing Gibbs as if he had suggested proposing to the jackass agent. _

_"Well, yeah, DiNozzo," Gibbs had said, perplexed. "Why not just go tell him he pissed you off?"_

_"I guess I just never…"_

_Gibbs had raised an eyebrow questioningly. "What? You gonna tell me you're not big on confrontation? Baltimore kind of disproved that. It's the reason I hired ya."_

_Tony had just let his eyes fall down to his puffy knuckles. "It's just easier to let things go sometimes," he had said quietly._

And Gibbs had just let it go at that then, but now, looking at DiNozzo's currently swollen fingers, he wished he had tried harder over the years to teach Tony how to feel—instead of just standing by and watching him do such a convincing job of faking it.

The sign for the state of Maryland flashed by and Gibbs thought about waking his passenger. He turned to find a pair of bleary green eyes watching him, and he bit down on a smile.

"Just crossed into Maryland," Gibbs said, answering the question in those eyes.

He was surprised when Tony groaned softly, and he almost asked him if his hand was bothering him.

But Tony said, "I don't wanna go back."

Gibbs just raised a surprised eyebrow. "Thought you'd want to be back. Sleep off the rest of that hangover."

Tony sighed, wondering why he had started this. "At least that part will be nice," he said, rubbing a hand over his tired eyes. "I feel like I could sleep for days."

"Knock yourself out," Gibbs said, surprising him. "You've got leave. Take it."

Tony felt an odd relief at hearing those words, but he frowned as his eyes fell to the cast protecting his broken hand. "Might as well," he said. "It's not like I'm going to be of any use to you."

Gibbs heard the self-loathing in the words and wanted to have that conversation about it being okay to feel—okay to hurt. "It'll heal," he said simply. "Let it go, Tony."

DiNozzo smiled at that, finally starting to believe it might actually be possible. He thought about his father and wondered if he had officially made his peace with the man—and what the man had done to him. And then he realized it was a silly notion. He wasn't sure he would ever be at peace with the abuse he had suffered at the hands of his father, a man who should have loved and protected him.

He wasn't sure he ever _wanted _to be at peace with that.

Gibbs was right. There really was no such thing as closure. Tony glanced to his left, smiling when he saw Gibbs pretending not to be studying him. But it did get a little better every day.

"Thanks, Boss," he said, wanting to elaborate but knowing he didn't need to—even if Gibbs would have let him.

"Didn't do anything you wouldn't have done for me," he said. "For any of us."

Tony shifted uncomfortably at the quiet sentiment and then he sighed heavily, the smile gone. Gibbs could read the distress in his features but couldn't determine its origin—disturbing because it was usually the other way around. Often, he knew what Tony _should_ be feeling—and why—but couldn't find any hint of the actual emotion.

Tony picked at the lining of the cast. "They're going to have a lot of questions," he said softly.

Gibbs suddenly understood the distress. He knew that Tony liked keeping the important things in his life—especially things as wrenching as the revelations of the weekend—closely guarded. Considering those revelations, Gibbs wouldn't be surprised if Tony bought a Doberman and posted several sentries around his secrets.

And his father's death. Gibbs knew his agent could give as good as he got when it came to ribbing and teasing, and he also knew Tony was extremely adept at offering support when it was needed—even if his methods were a little unusual. But Gibbs had never known anyone so completely clueless at receiving kindness. He chalked it up to inexperience—and was shamed to realize his own words and actions before this weekend had been more hindrance than help on that front.

"Offer still stands," Gibbs said, meaning it. If Tony couldn't deal with telling the team about his father's death, Gibbs had no problem giving him a hand.

More picking at the cast told Gibbs there were more issues at play than Tony being unsure of how to deal with the sympathy of his friends—if he even saw them as friends. Gibbs knew there had been deep wounds inflicted by the team during the Mexico disaster that, while now healed, had still left scars.

"What would you tell them?" Tony asked, unsure why he was even thinking about giving in to the temptation of letting Gibbs handle his problems.

Gibbs raised one silver eyebrow. "I was thinking about the truth," he said, referring to both the death and Tony's obvious injury.

Gibbs saw Tony wince, his eyes shifting away guiltily.

"I can tell them whatever you want," Gibbs said. "As little or as much as you're comfortable with."

They both knew Tony's threshold on that, but Gibbs was surprised when Tony verbalized it. "So I don't have to tell them anything?"

Gibbs saw the guilt, but he pressed on. "They're your friends, Tony. It ever occur to you they'll want to be there for you?"

Gibbs was expecting the flinch but not the full-on shudder.

"That's what I'm afraid of," Tony whispered, almost to himself.

Gibbs blinked in surprise. He had never heard his agent admit to being afraid of anything. Those soft words made his heart ache, made him realize his friend had gotten too used to being alone, to dealing with everything by himself without even a hint of support. A sudden vision of a twelve-year-old boy lying in a hospital bed, broken and hurt—in so many ways—made Gibbs see red.

Gibbs realized he had the steering wheel gripped furiously between white knuckles when Tony asked, tentatively, "What are you thinking?"

He loosened his grip, thinking hard, not wanting to tell Tony that he had been contemplating how to go about making a dead man suffer. He abandoned the thought quickly. Tony had suffered enough with those memories.

"Could tell 'em it was a bar fight," Gibbs said, half-joking.

Tony shook his head, fiercely it seemed to Gibbs as a shadow passed through his tired green eyes. "I don't want to lie to them."

Gibbs just nodded, recognizing the statement for what it was. He wasn't really surprised that Tony wasn't planning on letting him take over what the younger man considered to be his responsibility. It made him feel a dash of pride he wasn't sure was his right to feel.

"Be as vague as you want. You don't owe them any answers." _And I'll make sure they don't press you on it_, he added silently.

Judging by the relief that crossed Tony's face, Gibbs might as well have spoken out loud.

"Thanks, Boss."

Gibbs just nodded as he pulled into Tony's building's parking garage. He grabbed Tony's bag from the backseat, beating Tony to it and knowing it was only because of the younger agent's exhaustion and painkiller-induced fog. Gibbs expected a protest as he shouldered the bag, but Tony just smiled wryly and led the way to his apartment.

Once inside, Gibbs tossed the bag on the floor and hesitated only slightly before laying a gentle hand on Tony's shoulder. "Get some rest, okay?"

He saw Tony's eyes shift away uncomfortably and he made his last request sound more like an order. "You need anything, DiNozzo, you call me. Got it?"

The tired smile was not unexpected. "Got it, Boss. Thank you. For everything."

Gibbs nodded, squeezed the slightly trembling shoulder and left without another word.

No more were needed.


	14. Chapter 14

Tony kicked off his shoes and immediately regretted it. There was no way in hell he was just going to sit here all night, alone. While the prospect of a nap was enticing, he knew he needed to stay up or he would never be able to sleep that night.

And it was much easier to find company now than at three in the morning.

He thought about pulling out his rarely used little black book, but he quickly shook off the thought. What he really needed was to spend some time with someone who knew him better than he knew himself, someone who would let him brood, or talk, or simply drink. He wanted someone who could match him shot for shot and wouldn't judge him in the morning.

He wanted Abby.

And then he chuckled when he realized that description fit Gibbs, too. He got up, wondering why Gibbs hadn't offered—or insisted—to stay, but then he saw the blinking light on his answering machine and knew his boss had seen it too.

"DiNozzo? It's Sciuto," Abby's voice came, making Tony grin at their inside joke. Abby had once said that because they called each other by their first names at work, they should go with last names in their off time so hanging out would never feel like working. Tony shook his head, thinking about the sheer volume of Red Bull and vodka that had led to that conversation and remembering the hangover had been worse than work. Worse than the worst day of work imaginable.

Think Gibbs during a coffee embargo worst.

"Don't be mad but McGee was super-worried about you because you were all zombie-Tony and we all know you only get like that when something really, really bad has happened. Like Exxon Valdez playing slalom with icebergs resulting in oil-flavored North Atlantic cod bad. So we brain-stormed things that could be that bad."

He heard Abby pause to draw a guilty breath.

"And then we might have come up with a theory. And then we might have traced your cell phone. But don't be too mad because we traced Gibbs' too. And for the love of all things unholy, please don't tell him that." Another guilty pause, and Tony could practically _see_ her twisting a pigtail nervously. "But I guess it doesn't matter because McGee and I also might have called him. It also might have taken us hours—and several very, very strong drinks—and a trip to Taco Bell—to work up the courage to actually call. But then we just hung up because we were scared. But we tried to call back in the morning but both of your phones were off. I know that means hospital, Tony. A really good hospital in New York with really good doctors. Please tell me you're not sick. I mean, I know you can't tell me now because we're not really talking but the first words you say to me had better be 'I'm not sick.' Well, not your first words ever to me because those were 'I think your kilt shrunk, lassie,' but you know what I mean."

Tony laughed at the memory, wondering if the tape was going to run out and then remembering it was digital. He wondered idly about the world record for messages as Abby continued. He frowned as her voice lost all of its bubbliness and dropped to a whisper.

"Is it your dad, Tony? Is he sick? Or not sick—but not well either? Did he die, Tony? Call me, okay? Sick or not sick, people living or dying or dead, just please call me? I need to know you're okay."

Tony stood there, smiling even though his chest felt like there was an elephant lounging on it. The raw concern in Abby's voice—for him, for his well-being—warmed him better than several shots of the good stuff.

He debated for a second, then grinned, deciding there was no reason not to bask in that kind of warmth.

* * *

Tony leaned against the doorframe of the lab, watching Abby bounce to her latest favorite manic rhythm. He frowned and straightened, intent on sneaking out before she saw him—or heard the rattling ice in the Caf-Pow! he had brought. He thought about leaving it on the long shiny table but didn't think he was that stealthy. And seeing her shimmying with such obvious happiness, he didn't want to wreck her good humor with his bad news.

"Tony!" Abby squealed just as he turned to leave. He cursed himself, wondering why he had even decided to come here. He turned back, trying to find the energy to paste on a plastic smile.

"I'm not sick," he said, still trying to smile.

He let the poor attempt fade when he saw the understanding in her cool green gaze. He practically melted into the soft hug she wrapped him in. "I'm so sorry, Tony," she whispered against his throat. "He died, didn't he?"

He could only nod, and he felt her arms tighten around him. The embrace was still gentle, unlike her usual crushing hugs, and he couldn't help thinking about how they were standing in almost the exact same position as the night they lost Kate. He wasn't entirely surprised when she gently pulled him a few feet closer to the window, her soft breath never leaving his neck.

He was glad for the change, wondering if it was strange that he didn't want to compare this pain to that of losing Kate. He mostly didn't want to think about how her death had hurt so much more than the death of his own flesh and blood. If he hadn't ever realized it before, he suddenly knew that she had been more like family to him than his own ever had been, ever would be.

Tony and Abby stayed melded together for several long moments, Tony soaking in the comfort like a brand-new sponge.

He could have stayed there all night, but he finally said, "Abbs? This is nice, but I should let you get back to work."

She pulled back and he was surprised to see tears shining unshed in her eyes—until he realized how miserable he had sounded.

"I'm done for the day," she said, keeping her hand on his arm. "Dinner?"

He felt like a kid just given a puppy. "Thanks, Abby."

He smiled as she dragged him to her office, obviously unwilling to break contact to even grab her bag. She looped an arm through his and led him to the door, stopping short when McGee suddenly appeared in the doorway. She saw his eyes land on Tony's cast, and she willed him not to say anything. She smiled at her mental prowess when he turned his gaze to her face.

"Hey, Timmy," she said. "We were just going…"

She trailed off, uncertain how to handle telling him Tony might not want extra company.

But Tony just said, "To dinner. Want to come?"

McGee blinked in obvious surprise. He saw the death glare Abby was giving him and decided turning down Tony's offer might not be so good for his health so he nodded. "Sure."

"Ziva still here?" Tony asked. He honestly wasn't sure he wanted a ton of company right now, but he didn't want anyone to feel left out. And he was also thinking about Gibbs' words when he had said his friends might actually want to be there for him. At McGee's nod, he said, "Let's invite her too. Maybe we can get her drunk and quiz her on English slang."

McGee grinned and moved to Abby's computer to instant message their teammate. A moment later, he said, "She's in. Said she'll be down in a tiffy."

Abby and Tony were still giggling when the agent walked into the lab. "What is so funny?" she asked, her eyes on Tony's cast for only a second before moving suspiciously up to his face.

"Jiffy, Ziva," Tony corrected with a smile. "Down in a jiffy."

"Ah, I thought it looked funny when I typed it," she said, smiling wickedly as she looked pointedly at the cast again. "But at least I can type."

Tony felt Abby stiffen beside him but he just rolled his eyes. "At least I'll be able to type the correct words. And contractions, too. Like _I'll_ and _I'm_ and _can't_. And _let's_, as in _let's_ go because _I'm_ starving."

Ziva smiled. "Sure, Tony. _Let's _go."

Tony put his undamaged hand to his chest in mock shock. "My God! It's finally happened! I didn't think it possible!"

"In that case," she said, "_you'd_ be wrong."

"Okay, seriously," Tony said, anything but serious—and god it felt good after everything that had happened. "You should stop that. It's freaking me out."

"Sure," she agreed amiably. "I will not do it again. Promise. Now where are we going for dinner? I am starved as well."

They all looked at Tony and no one was surprised when he named his favorite pizza place. They agreed and were heading for the door when Tony stopped them, his tone low again.

"You should all probably know," he said, slapping on a fake smile, "because I might get drunk and sloppy tonight," and then the smile faded and he continued honestly, "that my father died over the weekend. That's why Gibbs and I were in New York."

Ziva pulled him into a surprisingly gentle hug and when she pulled back, her dark eyes were sincere. "I am very sorry for your loss, Tony."

He nodded. "Thank you, Ziva."

McGee just put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed very briefly. "I'm sorry, Tony." He smiled, shooting a devious glance at Abby. "And I'm sorry I let Abby talk me into tracing your cell phone. It was all her idea."

"McGee!" Abby cried, punching his arm and making him wince theatrically.

"Ow!"

"You think that hurt, Probie?" Tony asked. "I also know you traced Gibbs' cell, and I'm thinking about holding that over your head for the next, oh, I don't know, maybe twenty years?"

Gibbs found that exact moment to sweep into the lab. "Should have kept your mouth shut, DiNozzo. I know now."

"Oh, hey, Boss," Tony said. "We were just headed to dinner. Wanna come?"

If anyone was surprised when Gibbs agreed, no one showed it. They left the lab, Gibbs asking Tony, "So how many lies have you told them about that hand yet?"

Tony just laughed. "None. Yet. I'm thinking about making up a different story for everyone who asks. It'll keep me entertained while I'm on desk duty."

"Oh I think you'll be plenty busy, DiNozzo," Gibbs returned. "I've got a whole stack of cold cases with your name on it."

Tony groaned, but he was still smiling.

Just before they separated to go to their cars, McGee shot a tentative look at DiNozzo. "So, Tony, I've got to ask."

Tony waited for it, waited for the questions he thought he had avoided. Was he sad? Did he miss him? What was he like? Was he a good father?

But all McGee asked was, "You don't really think Aquaman would win versus Batman, do you?"


	15. Epilogue

The package arrived about a week later. Tony picked it up, eyed the return address warily, and pulled his ever-present knife. He slit the paper-covered box and flinched at its contents.

He clenched his mother's little piano-shaped pendant in a trembling fist and clutched it to his chest as he read the note from Marianne.

_He told me he wanted you to have it, and he was sorry he didn't give it to you straight away as she had wanted. I don't know if you found any peace up here, but he wanted you to know something. He loved you, Anthony. He loved you. _

_I want you to know something. Even though he never found the courage to tell you he was sorry, he knew how badly he hurt you. He'll never suffer the way you did, but I want you to know that he really was sorry. Even if you can't forgive him, forgive yourself. You turned out to be a wonderful person not because of him, but despite him. Be proud of who you are, son. _

_Marianne_

_PS—How's the hand?_

He saw tears blur the note in his hand, not at the declaration of love—he wasn't sure if he would ever reconcile that in his confused head—but at the final question, the open invitation to continue his relationship with his last connection to his family.

He felt himself sliding down the wall toward the floor, the little pendant biting into his palm. He looked around the apartment, his eyes landing on the photo of his team—the people who had been more of a family to him than his own flesh and blood.

Than his own father, who was now gone.

_Gone_, he thought.

And then he cried.


End file.
